


Remember

by Robin4



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode Fix-it, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Rumbelle fix-it, Spoilers, alternate season 4b, post s04e11 Heroes and Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 68,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3067169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin4/pseuds/Robin4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that they have both hurt one another, perhaps they can begin to heal.  Belle and Rumplestiltskin reunite after the midseason finale, but not without challenges that threaten to tear them apart forever.  </p><p>Or, the one where Rumplestiltskin returns to Storybrooke, Hook still wants revenge, and Emma and Belle get caught in the middle.</p><p>A Rumbelle fix-it with a dash of CaptainSwan angst on the side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Potential spoilers for the second half of season 4 ahead! Filming photos of Belle giving Hook the dagger have been spotted online, and those were the idea that formed the premise of this story. Hook and CaptainSwan fans - it's going to be a rough ride for a bit, but if you hang in there with me, things might just get better for our favorite pirate.

By the time Belle finished walking back into town, her fury had faded to regret.  And then to pain.  She tried so hard not to think on the long walk, tried not to listen to the voice of her husband in her head, pleading with her, admitting he was afraid, crying and begging while she broke his heart.  But all of her efforts to ignore those memories failed.  Perhaps that was the most honest that Rumplestiltskin had been with her in a long time, but now she will never know, will she?  She will not know what was truth and what was lies, because she was too buried in her own pain to listen to his.  Yes, her heart was broken.  Yes, it still is.  But now his was, too, and there was _no getting him back_.  So, she was left running through the memories over and over again, realizing that she had not let him even say a word in his defense because she’d been too afraid that she would give in.

Perhaps Belle did the right thing for Storybrooke, stopping the Dark One and saving Hook’s life.  But she wronged her husband, wronged Rumplestiltskin, greatly, and her steps turned heavy once the enormity of what she did hit her.  She could have stopped him another way, but instead she chose to banish him.  To banish him with _nothing._

That realization hit her once she reached the town, and Belle headed to the pawnshop quickly after that, grabbing the spare keys to the Cadillac, a briefcase, his cane, and then driving out to the town line.  Rumple undoubtedly had his wallet on him, but he’d never been a believer in credit cards.  Belle knew how little cash he tended to carry, and she saw him collapse to the ground in pain when his right leg gave out.  Rushing to the town line in her husband’s caddy, promising herself that she’d go with him if he’d have her—or even if he wouldn’t—Belle blew past every stop sign and broke every speed limit.  Tears blurred her vision as she drove, but she didn’t care.  Yes, Rumplestiltskin had betrayed her, but she had betrayed him right back.  Surely, they could find some sort of common ground if they worked hard enough at it, if she could apologize and he could, too.  It wasn’t too late.  It wasn’t—

But her walk back to town had taken too long.  By the time Belle reached the town line again, Rumplestiltskin was gone. 

She almost followed him, but where would she go?  Belle didn’t know the world outside Storybrooke at all, and how would she find him?  The terrible feeling of heavy regret and heartbreak would not leave her.  It settled in her stomach alongside the horrible feeling of betrayal she had felt when she realized Rumple had been lying to her all along.  That knowledge had utterly broken her; finding the gauntlet, having it lead to the _real_ dagger—

“Oh.”

The word slipped out as Belle sat in the car staring at the town line, trying not to think about the times she had done this very same thing with Rumplestiltskin.  _The gauntlet leads you to a person’s greatest weakness,_ Rumple had told her back in the Dark Castle.  _Which is usually the thing a person loves most._

Belle barely made it out of the car before she vomited, falling to her hands and knees on the hard asphalt, gagging and retching and shaking.  _You make me stronger,_ Rumplestiltskin had told her.  What if she’d been wrong? What if the gauntlet only led Belle to his greatest weakness, not the thing he loved most?  Finding the gauntlet and following it had made the world drop out from under Belle’s feet, had made her question the one thing she had never questioned before: Rumplestiltskin’s love for her.  Because of that, she told him that his true love was his power…and she hadn’t let him say a word in his defense.

There was nothing left in her stomach to vomit up, but that didn’t keep Belle from dry heaving several times more as the depth of what she had done sank in.  Oh, her regrets and her actions didn’t erase Rumple’s lies, or the fact that she’d found him trying to crush Hook’s heart, but the underlying assumption that fueled her heartbreak was that he loved his power more than he loved her.  And maybe he did.  She had no way to know because she hadn’t let him answer.  But maybe he didn’t, and maybe the gauntlet had just led Belle to his greatest weakness.

Brokenly, Belle turned to stare at the town line, at the red painted barrier that she had forced her husband across.  It didn’t matter now, did it?  He was gone.  He could never come back.  And it was her fault.

* * *

 

The next time she saw Rumplestiltskin, Belle told herself that she should not have been surprised.  There he was, the Dark One, in all of his fury and all of his power, dressed impeccably and with his aloof expression showing none of the heartbreak Belle had seen that fateful night.  Seven weeks had passed, Seven weeks while Belle flogged herself and tried to be there to help everyone who needed help.  But whatever Rumple had been doing during those seven weeks, he was obviously the same as he ever had been.  She hadn’t expected him, not then, and the first words they spoke had been ones full of anger and hatred. 

“Didn’t expect to see me again, did you, _dearie?_ ” her husband snapped, and Belle could see none of the broken, frightened man beneath the rage he displayed.

“You can’t be here,” she’d stuttered far more stupidly than she wanted to, staring at him and trying not to revel in the fact that _Rumple was back.  Rumple was here._   “I—I exiled you.”

Rumplestiltskin’s smile was hard, cold, and nothing like one he’d ever turned on her.   “Since when have you known me to respect little things like town lines?” he taunted her, and Belle felt her heart break all over again.  But her fury ramped right up to meet his, even if she was dying inside.

“No, I guess I shouldn’t have expected that,” she shot back.

Yes, he was back.  But now he was angry and dark, and allied with the Queens of Darkness.  Rumplestiltskin left her standing there on the street outside the pawn shop they had once spent so much time in together, left Belle standing there wondering if her seven weeks of regret had been worth anything at all.  Maybe she had been right.  Maybe his True Love _was_ his power, and maybe Belle had never been anything more than a smokescreen for him.  Maybe his words of love and devotion had been meaningless.  _Was the mirror right?  Did he only marry me because I was weak enough to be caught up in his schemes?_

Perhaps the man she had loved was only a dream.  Perhaps Belle had made him up in her mind as a way to deal with the lonely imprisonment in the Dark Castle, and Rumplestiltskin had never been redeemable at all.  And yet…she still loved him.  Belle knew that she would never stop, no matter how angry she was. 

Looking down the street to make sure Rumplestiltskin was gone, Belle slowly headed towards the Cadillac.  She had buried the dagger five weeks ago as her penance, because she’d wanted to carry it everywhere as the only memento of Rumple she had left.  Instead, she’d forced herself to bury it.  The dagger’s absence was a reminder to herself that she was no hero for doing what she had did to him, even if the others celebrated the fact that she had saved Hook, and perhaps the entire town.  But now it was the only way to control the Dark One once more, the only way to stop Rumplestiltskin from carrying out whatever his evil plan was.

Briefly, Belle considered digging it up, summoning him and having the talk she had dreamed of having.  Of speaking with one another honestly, of apologizing, of rebuilding their love.  But his fury had been so easy to see.  He hated her now, and wasn’t bothering to lie about it.  _Not anymore, anyway._   Belle didn’t know if he’d been lying before, and now she wasn’t sure that she wanted to know.  All she knew was that she still loved him, despite everything.  And that meant that she couldn’t trust herself.

 She needed to give someone else the dagger, lest she give in and believe Rumple’s lies all over again.

* * *

 

“I can’t trust myself,” Belle said honestly, offering the dagger to the pirate who Rumplestiltskin had almost killed.  She knew that Hook wouldn’t kill Rumple—he didn’t want to be the Dark One—and hopefully his love for Emma would help him do the right thing.  Hook had been right about Rumplestiltskin all along, after all, and Belle felt that he’d almost lost the most because of her husband.  She still couldn’t bring herself to trust Regina, not after having been locked up by her for almost thirty years, and the thought of admitting her failings to Emma or one of the Charmings was almost too much to bear.  But Hook had been a villain.  He had done terrible things and had lived to regret them.  Surely Hook would know how to do the right thing when Belle was too weak to do so.

“I understand,” the pirate replied, and he looked so damn honest about it.  Hook had helped Belle dig up the dagger, and she was starting to think that _he,_ at least, really had changed.  Perhaps Emma was a much better judge of character than she was.  “The Crocodile did a number on you, love.  I can’t blame you for not wanting to deal with him again.”

“I’m afraid that I’ll give it back to him,” she whispered, staring at the dagger.

 _Rumplestiltskin_ , it said, shining softly in the street lights.  She wanted him back so badly that it hurt, but the man she wanted never had existed, had he?

“Well, you can trust that I won’t do that,” Hook said dryly.

Every instinct Belle had was screaming at her not to hand the dagger to the pirate, not to give the one weapon that could hurt Rumplestiltskin so deeply to the man who hated him most of all.  But Belle’s instincts about Rumplestiltskin had been wrong all along.  Hook must have been right to hate him so much.  So, she forced herself to open her fingers, forced herself to let the dagger go.

“Promise me that you’ll only do what has to be done,” she begged Hook.

“Aye, I’ll do that,” the pirate replied, and Belle nodded tightly.  Her heart told her she was wrong, but it was her heart that she couldn’t trust, so she turned and drove away as quickly as she could, refusing to look back.

Just like she’d refused to look back at her sobbing husband on the other side of the town line.  Perhaps she had done the right thing that night.

* * *

 

When he felt the now-familiar tug of a summons, Rumplestiltskin’s first reaction was abject terror.  He had prayed that Belle would just hide the dagger away and only use if it she felt he was doing something terrible, that she would not break him into pieces by controlling him yet another time.  He hadn’t reacted well when he’d seen her laughing with Will Scarlet, acting like nothing was wrong and life was perfectly normal after she’d exiled him.  Part of Rumplestiltskin had thought—desperately _believed_ —that Belle would feel at least a little guilty for throwing him into the world with hardly a cent to his name, crippled and frightened.  But she faced him like she was only surprised to find that he had come back, not like she had missed him at all.  Or like she had ever loved him.

But his second thought was that he had to be wrong, and at least now he would get to see her.  Talk to her.  Say some of the truths that had been burning in his mind for the last seven weeks, to tell her that he had come back to Storybrooke for _her_ , not for power.  Belle needed to hear that, and Rumplestiltskin owed her the truth, even if she hated him forever.  _Even if she locks me in a cage and treats me like Zelena did,_ he thought brokenly.  But he was hopeful, too.  Because it was Belle.

But it wasn’t.  When his magic took him to the person who had summoned him, Rumplestiltskin found himself in the middle of an empty lot, staring at a grinning Killian Jones.

“Well, it’s amazing how well this works, isn’t it Crocodile?”

“How did you get that?” Rumplestiltskin demanded, starting forward before the dagger came up and froze him in place.  But his first thought wasn’t fury; his first thought was of Belle, who Hook had tried to kill twice.  “What did you do to her?”

Hook was laughing.  “So much worry for the little wife, Crocodile?” he taunted him.  “I wouldn’t be so concerned.  _She_ gave this to me.”

“She wouldn’t—”

“Silence.”  The word cut Rumplestiltskin off mid-sentence, and his objections died in his throat.  For a moment, he fought against the compulsion as Hook watched, red-hot pain lancing through his skull.

Finally, Rumplestiltskin just shut his mouth, fists clenched and fury raging.  He could _feel_ Hook’s will through the dagger, could feel the darkness of the curse reaching out for the Dark One’s new master and egging him on.  Hook wouldn’t realize what the curse was doing to him, wouldn’t know that the darkness was now in _him_ nearly as much as it was Rumplestiltskin, but a man with a soul like that would never be able to resist the dagger’s influence because he would never _want_ to.  Claim though he might to be better, there was still plenty of darkness in the good pirate.  Belle had been able to resist the dagger’s darkness, but her heart was pure, unlike Hook’s. 

“Kneel.”

The command sizzled in, and Rumplestiltskin’s legs collapsed out from under him.  He crashed into the dirt, hissing in pain and fury, but even when he tried to speak, words would not come out.  Agony rose to greet his effort, and stars exploded in front of his eyes.

“Oh, now _that’s_ a nice sight,” Hook smiled.

All he could do was glare.  Rumplestiltskin still couldn’t say a word.  He could only glower and do his best to bury the terror that accompanied the anger.  This was why he’d never been able to give Belle the real dagger back.   _This_ was what haunted his nightmares, even if most of those nightmares wore Zelena’s face. _Or Belle’s,_ a voice inside him remembered.  Those nightmares had never been logical, but now Belle had given Hook the dagger. 

Assuming Hook was to be believed.

“Now, it’s time for some ground rules, isn’t it?” the pirate said, obviously enjoying himself.  But Rumplestiltskin’s mind was still turning over the same thing over and over again.  _She gave it to me_ , Hook had said.  _Belle_ gave _Hook_ the dagger. 

Rumplestiltskin had not known he could feel so betrayed.

“First off, you’re not going to tell anyone I have the dagger,” Hook continued, ticking off points with a twitch of his metal appendage.  “Secondly, you’re not to hurt Emma.  Or any of her family.  In any way.  And hurting includes killing or threatening, Dark One.”

He could _still_ only glare, thinking over and over again about how Belle had given his soul to this pirate.  She had to hate him so much, and Rumplestiltskin had not known he could ever hurt this badly.

“Hmm…let’s see what else,” Hook continued, his lips twisting up into a pleased sneer.  “Ah, right.  That’s it.   You’re not to talk to Belle.  Not a word.  No apologies, nothing at all.  Understood?”

The demand for an answer finally overrode the previous command of _silence,_ and Rumplestiltskin ground out the word: “Yes.”

His curse would not let him say anything else, much though he wanted to argue.  But before Rumplestiltskin could ask _why_ , Hook continued:

“You really do love her, don’t you?”

Now _that_ he fought.  Rumplestiltskin was not about to bare his shattered soul for this man, no matter what the circumstances—but white hot pain tore through him, making his limbs shudder and a soft gasp of pain tear out of him.  Broken and hurting, he fought for several more seconds (but Belle gave _Hook_ the dagger, so she didn’t care for him, and this was just going to be his life now, wasn’t it?) before finally giving in.  “Of course I do!”

“Well, that makes this that much sweeter.  Because I assure you, Crocodile, that she has learned what you are, and she feels nothing for you.”  He shrugged, gesturing with the dagger.  “Otherwise, she’d never have given me this.”

A low growl emerged before Rumplestiltskin could stop himself, fury mixing with heartbreak and with his curse egging both on. 

“None of that,” Hook laughed at him again.  “Now.  Be on your way like a good little Dark One, and do as you’re told.”

Rumplestiltskin’s magic tore him away before he could object, and he landed back where he had started, his mind whirling past fury and into the many loopholes he could find in Hook’s commands.  But he couldn’t focus, couldn’t _think_.  All he knew was that Belle had given Hook the dagger, had done the one thing he had thought she would never do.  Having her send him across the town line as she ignored his pleas—and his admission of how afraid he was!—had broken him.  This just shattered him.

He had nothing left but evil now, did he?

* * *

 

It took him weeks to scrape up the courage to write a simple note, not to mention dozens of drafts that Rumplestiltskin threw away.  He’d seen Belle several times around town, yet his curse had forced him to remain silent.  So, he turned away from her each time, surprised when she called his name with pain in her voice.  _But she gave Hook the dagger._   Just seeing her made him want to cry, though he _did_ at least take his frustration out on Cruella when she merrily mentioned that she could make him a widower. 

_Belle gave Hook the dagger._

He couldn’t get that thought out of his head, even when he tried over and over again to make himself stop thinking of it.  But why would she have done so?  But of course she would.  She hated him, as well she should.  He’d lied to her, used her, and hurt her.  Why should she not hate him?  Rumplestiltskin knew his own crimes; they’d eaten away at him each and every day while he’d kept the truth from her.  He’d promised himself over and over again that he would tell her the truth, but like a terrified fool, he’d waited too long, and now Rumplestiltskin got to pay the price.  _Belle gave Hook the dagger._

And yet she still deserved the truth.  No matter what Belle had done, Rumplestiltskin had started this horrible cycle.  He had always known she would leave him, had always known that he never could deserve the love of someone like Belle.  Although he had never expected it to hurt quite this much, he had always known it was coming.  So he could do one thing right.  Just this once.  Because…even if it no longer mattered, even if he had destroyed everything they had once been, Rumplestiltskin still loved Belle.  He loved her too much to leave her thinking that he loved his power more than her.  Once, he’d told her that his power meant more to him than she did.  Now, Rumplestiltskin knew that was a lie.  He just was too afraid to live without power, and for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why it had to be one or the other.

So, he wrote:

_Dear Belle,_

_I’ve written this letter a half hundred times, and it never comes out right.  So I won’t try anything fancy with words.  I’ll just tell it to you straight._

_I’m sorry.  I lied to you from the beginning.  The dagger that Regina gave you was fake—I swapped it out when Zelena dropped it in the barn, because I wanted to see which of those so-called ‘heroes’ I could trust.  Watching Regina think she was controlling me and then walk away with the fake made me realize that they would never trust me, no matter what I had done.  I died to save them—though, if I’m honest, that was more for you and for Bae—but they didn’t care.  To them, I was only the Dark One.  A demon to be caged and controlled._

_I swapped the daggers before our dance in the Sorcerer’s house.  I wanted you to have the real one…and then I found the hat.  I knew what it was immediately, because that hat is the only chance I ~~have~~ had of freeing myself from the dagger.  Of making sure no one could ever control me again.  And before you think that’s all about power, please understand that it isn’t just that.  _

_When Zelena got the dagger, the first thing she did was order me to kill you.  Right after I had done the only thing I could to save my son, an effort I knew would fail even then.  And that dagger will always be there to let someone force me to hurt you.  I wanted to be free of it, not just for myself, but so that I could be someone like you wanted me to be.  Someone who is free to make choices, and not trapped into becoming anyone’s slave ever again._

He almost wrote about what Zelena did to him, almost told her about the humiliation of being on his knees in the dirt before Hook, but Rumplestiltskin was not prepared to bare his soul that far for a woman who must now hate him.  _Belle gave Hook the dagger.  She turned her back on you when you were on your knees and crying.  She does not care,_ the voice of logic told him, and Rumplestiltskin sat back in his chair before his tears could fall on the page.  He had to wait several long moments before he could write any more.  After several seconds of staring at the page, Rumplestiltskin almost tore up the letter and started once more.  Did he want to be that honest with Belle, after everything?  She deserved to know, but could he bear telling her?

_I know I let you down.  I meant to let you keep the dagger, but I wanted my freedom so badly.  And I was a fool.  I almost admitted everything to you that day after we went to the Snow Queen’s cave, but I was too afraid of losing you.  Now I’ve done that, and I can’t blame you for never wanting to see me again.  Or…for doing what you did with the dagger.  At the town line and later. ~~Even if I will never understand that.~~   As you said, I’m a monster.  It’s no less than what I deserve._

That was true without telling her how badly she’d broken him.  He could hide that behind an apology.  He could exploit this loophole, try to give _something_ back to Belle—even if it was just understanding of what had happened—and then work on getting the dagger back.  Because Rumplestiltskin might have been many things, but he was not going to be Hook’s slave.  Not even if that was what Belle wanted him to be.  Even if the spinner inside him, the coward who had crumbled at the town line and begged his wife to understand, wanted to give in because that was what Belle thought he should be, and she had always been the better one of the two of them.

But he only had power left, so that was what he would be.

* * *

 

The letter appeared on top of the book she was trying to bury herself in.  Belle was dead tired after running around town with Snow, Emma, and the others, but she knew that she wouldn’t be able to sleep.  She’d tried to talk to Rumple again when she saw him, hoping that maybe they could clear the air without the dagger between them, but he’d disappeared almost as soon as he’d seen her, wearing a look on his face that Belle hadn’t seen since she’d forced him across the town line.  But he’d vanished so quickly that she wasn’t certain she’d seen it, and she’d tried to bury herself in her work to forget.  She didn’t know where Rumple was staying, or what he was doing with those Queens of Darkness, but the heroes needed help and Belle was trying to be there for them.

She recognized the writing immediately, and her heart did _not_ leap when she saw it.  But that was Rumplestiltskin’s careful, tiny handwriting.  Belle would know that absolutely anywhere.  She tried not to stare at it every time she looked through the ledgers at the pawn shop, tried not to cry because she knew that she’d betrayed him every bit as much as he had her, and apparently Rumple was not willing to forgive that.  But at least Hook seemed to be acting with restraint where the dagger was concerned.  That was something.  Even if Rumple hated her, at least she hadn’t been wrong about Hook.

Still, Belle read the letter with indecent haste, realizing with horror that Rumple _didn’t_ hate her.  He just seemed to think that _she_ hated him.  And yet he was still being honest.  Brutally… _honest._   Belle started crying by the end of the second paragraph, and by the time she reached the end, she was outright sobbing.

 _I am sorry,_ the letter ended, and there were dried tear stains on the page to match the wet ones Belle was putting there _.  I know you won’t believe me, and that’s all right.  I deserve that.  And I wish I wasn’t so much of a coward, but even then I couldn’t tell you in person.  The pirate forbade me to even speak to you, and I can only assume that’s because you don’t want to see me.  So, consider this the last you will hear from me._

_~~Lo~~ _

_Rumplestiltskin_

Confusion warred with emotion for a long moment, and Belle finally just broke down and cried.  She couldn’t think right now, couldn’t stop to consider the fact that _Hook_ had forbidden Rumplestiltskin to talk to her.  She just wanted to cry because she knew what those two letters meant, knew that Rumple still loved her as much as she loved him.  And yet somehow they were still on opposite sides in this mess, somehow they were still enemies…and she didn’t know how to fix that.

Later, Belle would decide that she needed to go talk to Hook about why he felt keeping Rumplestiltskin away from her was a good idea—Belle was sure that Hook had done it for good reasons, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why.  Belle just wanted to _talk_ to Rumple, wanted to apologize for her own actions, too.  She had questions—a lot more questions—but if Rumple had been courageous enough to send her this letter, Belle could match that courage with her own.  They’d been good once, or at least she thought they had, and Belle wasn’t going to leave it like this.  Maybe nothing would come of it, and maybe their hearts were both too broken to mend.  But she could at least tell him that she was sorry, too.

* * *

 

This summons caught him unawares, but Rumplestiltskin was somehow not surprised to find himself in the clock tower when his magic deposited him in front of the man who held his dagger.  Hook was smiling again, his expression dark and greedy, and the shiver that tore through Rumplestiltskin was a thing of sheer terror.  He could _see_ his curse working on the pirate, could see the darkness reaching into a heart that had already been stained by misdeeds of its own.  Belle could not have known it when she gave Hook the dagger—or at least Rumplestiltskin prayed she had not—but the pirate was the ideal candidate for that darkness to take advantage of.  He’d focused on revenge and hatred for too long.  And it had its claws in deep already.  Rumplestiltskin could tell.

“What do you want?” he snapped.  Two weeks had passed since he’d seen the pirate, and as far as Rumplestiltskin was concerned, if he never saw Hook again, it would be too soon.

Particularly given the dagger held in the pirate’s hand and the smile on Hook’s face.

“Now, now, Crocodile.  Be polite.”  A twitch of the dagger sent Rumplestiltskin crashing to his knees, and he grunted as he hit the ground.  “I rather prefer this view of you.”

“Glad to be of service,” he bit out from between gritted teeth. 

Hook chuckled again, and Rumplestiltskin thought he could see a hint of madness in his eyes.  _Power corrupts, dearie,_ he didn’t say.  _And it’s corrupting_ you _now._

“Oh, I’m sure you will be in time.  First, I have some questions for you,” the pirate taunted him, and cold metal of the dagger touched the underside of Rumplestiltskin’s chin, forcing his head up so that he had to look Hook in the eye.  The touch made him tense; the metal burned him, ever so slightly, but his curse would not let him pull away.

“Like what?” he demanded, using anger to hide his fear.  He would not let Hook know how much he hated being on his knees, would not let this damn pirate know how terrified he was of anyone controlling him. 

“Well, to start, I’d like to know how you’re enjoying avoiding your little wife,” the pirate drawled.  “Is she confused yet?”

“What?” Rumplestiltskin whispered, the question catching him off guard.

“You didn’t think that was _her_ idea, did you?  Oh, no.  I wanted you to know how it feels, Crocodile.  How it feels to be unable to tell her how you feel, or even that you’re sorry for what someone is forcing you to do?” Hook taunted him.  “Or do you not have enough human feelings for that?”

“I have feelings,” he growled, choosing to answer the last question instead of the rest.  But Hook obviously wasn’t in a helpful mood.

“Then how does it _feel_ , Dark One?”

Rumplestiltskin hesitated, and pain rose immediately.  He should know better, particularly after his time with Zelena, but he tried to fight it, anyway.  It was none of Hook’s business, how he felt about not being able to talk to Belle.  He’d sent that note to her the night before, but Rumplestiltskin found that doing so didn’t make him feel any better at all.  It just made him miss her more.

“Answer me!” Hook barked, and the pain increased tenfold.

A gasp of pain tore out of him before he managed to say: “It feels horrible.”  

“Good.  It’s about time you knew how I felt when you made me work against Emma.” The dagger pushed his chin up a bit higher.  “Just like I chose this place to meet with you.  Because it’s where you almost killed me, and your little Belle saved me.”

“Well, now that you’ve proved your point, can I go?” Rumplestiltskin snapped, and the dagger bit into his chin.  He yelped, and then clamped his jaw shut to keep the pain inside.

“Now, why would I let you do that?” Hook countered, smiling again.  “I have a job for you.”

“Fine.  What do you want?”

“You’re going to show this town what a demon you truly are,” the pirate told him, clearly relishing the moment.  Was that the curse working on him, or had Hook cherished thoughts like this on his own?  Rumplestiltskin thought it was both, and his heart started beating a little erratically as he tried to guess what Hook had in mind.  “I thought that turning you loose might do that, but apparently, you do have a little bit of self-restraint.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Rumplestiltskin muttered, hoping that Hook wouldn’t ask what his motives in coming back to Storybrooke were.  He’d already had to tell this damn pirate too much.  He wasn’t going to volunteer a damn thing.

“Shut up,” Hook snapped spitefully, and Rumplestiltskin felt the command hit him like a blow.  His head snapped back slightly, which at least gave him a little space away from the dagger, but it didn’t help him look away from the angry blue eyes that were glaring down at him.  “I’m going to teach you a lesson, Crocodile.  One you’ll _never_ forget.”

He knew where this was going.  Knew it deep in his soul, but the command to _shut up_ still lingered, even as age old words echoed in his mind: _I hurt his heart.  Belle is just where he keeps it._   Apparently the pirate’s ability to be ‘good’ was not everything he claimed it was.  So much for reformed villains.

“Oh, yes,” Hook said softly, obviously seeing the horror on Rumplestiltskin’s face.   The pirate shifted the dagger away from his throat, gesturing with it angrily.  “I’m going to make sure _you_ losethe woman you love this time.  Because you’re going to kill her.”

Words just wouldn’t come.  Rumplestiltskin’s mouth gaped open, but that last command had not lifted, and he just watched Hook laugh while he tried to object.

“You murdered one wife, after all.  No one’s going to be surprised when you murder the next one after she betrayed you like that,” the pirate gloated.  “So, you’re going to kill Belle. You’re going to rip her heart out, and make her _watch_ as you crush it.”

Either emotion overrode the command or it ran out, but the words tumbled out of Rumplestiltskin in a rush.  “Don’t do this,” he begged, any thoughts of preserving his own pride long gone.  “Belle’s innocent.  She doesn’t deserve this.”

“Neither did Milah!”  Hook snarled.  “And neither did Emma, when you tried to kill her!”

“Please don’t make me do this,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, not having any way to argue with Hook’s points—he’d known that Milah didn’t deserve death even when he killed her, but that had been centuries ago and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t change that now.  And Emma, well, that had been a mistake he was still glad had not worked out for him.  But _Belle…_   “She saved your life!  And this is how you repay her?”

“That’s why no one will believe I had anything do to with it,” was the smug response.

“Take your revenge on me however you want,” he said desperately, feeling tears start to gather in his eyes.  “But don’t hurt her.  Don’t hurt Belle.”

“I won’t,” Hook retorted. “ _You_ will.”

Neither of them noticed Belle frozen on the stairs beneath them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I firmly believe that the dagger--and the curse of the Dark One--can and does exert control over anyone who possesses it. We'll see exactly how much influence that evil has over Hook in the coming chapters.
> 
> Next up: Belle intervenes, and tragedy strikes. While you’re waiting, please do let me know what you think!


	2. II

Belle had asked Emma where to find Hook, and the sheriff had pointed her at the clock tower, saying something about how Hook had gone up there to find something or another.  It sounded a little odd, but Belle had shrugged and headed up there, anyway, brushing off Emma’s questions about what she needed Hook for.  However, as soon as she started up the stairs, she heard voices, and that made her pause.  They were the same voices she had heard nine weeks ago when the gauntlet had led her here, the same voices she had heard when her world started falling apart.  But now Hook had the dagger, and that meant that at least Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t be trying to kill him.  She wouldn’t have to rescue anyone today.  So, Belle started slowly up the stairs once more, swallowing back her pain and trying to focus on her goal.

She was here to talk to Hook.  She was here to ask him why he’d forbidden Rumple from seeing her.   Not to remember the day she banished Rumple after the gauntlet had led her to the dagger.  Thinking about that made her start doubting everything again, made her think of Rumple’s apologies and how he had once told her that she was his strength.  Not a weakness.  And he’d sent her that letter when—

“Please don’t make me do this,” Rumplestiltskin’s voice broke through her thoughts, coming in a desperate whisper that somehow carried, anyway. “She saved your life!  And this is how you repay her?”

Belle froze, her blood going cold.  She wasn’t hearing this.  This had to be some trick of Rumple’s, some word-smithing because he knew she was there.  Wasn’t it?  But then Hook replied, sounding smug:

“That’s why no one will believe I had anything do to with it”.

“Take your revenge on me however you want,” her husband begged as Belle started up the stairs once more, careful to keep her footsteps quiet.  Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she felt cold.  So cold.  “But don’t hurt her.  Don’t hurt Belle.”

“I won’t,” Hook retorted, just as Belle got her head up high enough to see the two men. “ _You_ will.”

She had to pause there.  Rumple was on his knees, with Hook looming over him, the dagger in hand.  The look on her husband’s face was so broken, so like the one when Belle had forced him across the town line without listening to a word he said.  “I can’t,” he whispered, tears rolling down his face.  “ _Please!_   Belle is—”

“The only light in your dark world, yes, I know,” the pirate cut him off, jeering, and Belle felt sick.  She had given him the dagger.  She had given Killian Jones the perfect way to seek the revenge he had waited so long for, and all because Belle had thought he was a better man, now.  She’d once thought herself such a good judge of character, but she’d misjudged Rumple, and now she had done the same with the pirate. 

Or had she?  _That dagger will always be there to let someone force me to hurt you,_ Rumplestiltskin had written.  No, he hadn’t gone about things in the right way, and he’d _lied_ to her, but this had been what he was so afraid of happening.  This was what Zelena had ordered him to do…and Belle had given Hook the tools to do it to him again.  She felt sick.

“I won’t—” The words cut off in a cry of pain, and Belle watched Rumplestiltskin’s hands come up to grip his head as his face contorted in agony.

“You will.  When you leave here, you’re going to find her, and you’re not going to speak a word to her.  You’re just going to rip her heart out and crush it.”

“ _Please…_ ”

“Silence!  You really still are that sniveling coward, aren’t you?” Hook asked, and that was finally too much.  Belle’s feet took her to the top of the stairs, and she started forward.

“I think you’re the coward, Killian Jones,” she said before she could stop herself, almost shaking with rage.  Both men twisted to face her, and the heartbreak on Rumplestiltskin’s face almost snapped her in two.  But he was silent—because he’d been _commanded_ to be silent, Belle realized—and it was Hook who spoke.

“Belle.  What are you doing here?”  He tried to pull off casual, but his blue eyes were just a little too wide to manage.

“Realizing that I put my trust in the wrong man,” she said around the lump in her throat.  “I trusted you to do the right thing.  I _saved_ you, and why?”

“I am trying to do the right thing.  I don’t know what you think you heard, but—”

“I heard you tell Rumplestiltskin to kill me,” Belle replied, striding forward.  She didn’t dare look at Rumple right now.  Didn’t dare look to see what was happening behind her.  Was he on his feet, coming to rip her heart out?  Or had Hook’s command been too specific?  “And that means you’re too cowardly to even kill me yourself.  You have to make someone _else_ do your dirty work, right after you told Emma how horrible it was to be controlled.  How demeaning.  How _traumatizing._ ”  Now Belle sneered, her temper up.  “You’re the coward.  At least he’s trying to fight you.”

She’d reached Hook’s side while she was speaking, and was glad to see that her words had an impact.  The pirate had actually flinched, and he seemed to blink, drawing back for a moment as if stunned.

“I never should have given you that dagger.  Now give it back.”

Belle never knew what went wrong as she reached for the dagger. Maybe she shouldn’t have grabbed for it, or maybe Hook tried to pull away just wrong.  Either way, he yanked the dagger up and away just as Belle went for it, trying to push her away with the flat side of his hook at the same time.  But Belle sidestepped, avoiding his attempt to shove her aside, leaning forward for the dagger she should have never given away.

Pain exploded in her left side, and she heard Rumplestiltskin scream her name.

* * *

 

_“Belle!”_ her name exploded out of him, and somehow Rumplestiltskin found himself rushing to his wife’s side as she crumbled to the ground.  He didn’t even think of the dagger as Hook stumbled, the knife loose in his hand and almost out of his control.  That fact gave Rumplestiltskin enough leeway to reach Belle, to see the way red blossomed on her white sweater.  One of his hands found the wound, applying pressure as quickly as he could, and Belle’s sharp cry echoed through the rafters.

“Oh, no.  No no no no no,” Rumplestiltskin whispered desperately, watching blood bubble up between his fingers as his left hand moved to cradle Belle’s head.  “Please no.  Not you.  Not like this.”

His face was already wet with tears, because he knew what was going to happen.  Still, Rumplestiltskin called on his magic, anyway, even though he knew it would not come.  When he looked up, Hook was standing over them both, blue eyes wide with shock.

“Let me heal her,” he begged.  “Please.  Do whatever you want with me, but not her.  _Please._ ”

Hook seemed to take a moment before he managed to speak, his shock shifting into an angry sort of satisfaction.  “Oh, no, Crocodile.  This wasn’t my plan, but it works well enough. You can watch her die.  You can even hold her and whisper whatever sweet nothings to her you want.  I don’t think she has long.”

Further pleas would get him nowhere.  Rumplestiltskin knew that; the pirate was too focused on revenge and too affected by the dagger to care about anything else.  And Hook was right.  Belle didn’t have much time, and Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t waste the last few moments he could spend with her.

“Sweetheart…” he whispered, turning back to his wife as shaking fingers brushed hair out of her eyes.  Best not to mince words.  “I’m so sorry.  I love you.  And you’ve always been—”

“Your strength,” Belle replied weakly, her blue eyes starting to cloud over already.  “I know.  And I’m sorry, too.  I should—should have—” The words ended in a wet and rattling cough, and Rumplestiltskin shook his head desperately.  The floor beneath her was already wet and stained dark red.

“I lied to you.  I started it.  And I’m so sorry.  I was just afraid.”  It was amazing how the thought of losing her could make him so honest. 

“I know,” she said, her voice barely audible.  “I…”

“I would choose you, Belle,” Rumplestiltskin whispered hurriedly, knowing what he should have said ages ago and needing for her to hear it now.  _She_ needed to hear it now.  “It’s not a contest.  I love you more than my power.”

Shaking, he bent to press a kiss against her forehead as Belle’s eyes slid shut.  This wasn’t something that True Love’s kiss could fix; this was no curse he could free her from, but he had to kiss her, anyway.  Belle started to speak, but never finished the sentence.  “Love…”

“What the hell is going on here?” a new voice intruded, but Rumplestiltskin never looked away from his wife.  She was dying.  Why should he care if Emma Swan picked this moment to stride up into the clock tower?  The sheriff could say whatever she wanted to; it didn’t matter now.  Belle had minutes at best, and she probably wouldn’t be conscious for most of them.  She was on the verge of passing out even now.  Rumplestiltskin had always known that he’d never earn a happy ending, but he’d never imagined that _Belle_ would be hurt so badly by his actions.  Not like this.

“Emma—” Hook started, and part of Rumplestiltskin wanted to cheer.  At least Emma would see the pirate for what he was: imperfect and still obsessed with revenge.  Hook might have tried to be a better man, but he couldn’t have wanted it very much if the dagger could affect him like this.  Not for himself, anyway.  Rumplestiltskin knew the signs of someone trying to change for someone else, and they were etched into the pirate’s face.

“Gold, what the hell happened to Belle?” the sheriff cut him off.

“Ask your pirate,” he snarled around his tears, shifting to hold Belle’s hand instead of trying futilely to put pressure on the wound.  It was far too late for that.

“Killian?”

“She slipped.”

“Why the hell aren’t you healing her?” Emma demanded, and it took Rumplestiltskin a moment to realize that she was talking to him.  By then, his rage was rising to meet his grief, filling him with a fire that he did not want.  He wanted to wail out his soul, not let his curse run wild.  So, looking up, he met the sheriff’s eyes, not bothering to hide his heartbreak or his pain.

“I _can’t_ ,” he snarled, throwing a significant glance at the dagger still in Hook’s hand.

To give Emma credit, she had never been one to hesitate when someone needed saving.  Before either man could say anything more, Emma reached out and snatched the dagger out of her lover’s hand, turning back to face Rumplestiltskin.  “Heal her,” she commanded.

Relief made him light-headed, but magic came at his call, sweet and pure and filling his fingers with blue light.  Quickly, Rumplestiltskin called on every skill he had, stopping the blood flow, knitting the jagged wound together, and then using magic to clean the blood away.  A faint stain remained on the white sweater, because technically Emma had not granted him permission to do that.  Nor had she told him that he could close the hole in the cloth itself.  But she _had_ said to heal Belle, and hadn’t set restrictions on how he could do that.  So, Rumplestiltskin poured power into his True Love, using it to replenish the blood she had lost, to give Belle the strength that the wound had taken from her.  Her eyes flew open, beautiful and blue, almost immediately, and he could see the lines in her face easing as the pain vanished.

“You saved me,” Belle breathed as Rumplestiltskin helped her sit up.

“Did you think I wouldn’t want to?” he whispered, feeling tears threatening again.  Yes, she was alive, but everything they had shared was still in shattered pieces at his feet, and that was his fault.  He had still lied to her.  Used her.  Belle had still exiled him with nothing, and she had still given Hook the dagger.

But she was alive.  That was what counted.

Even if she hated him.

“Belle, what’s going on?” Emma asked, reaching out to help her to her feet.  Rumplestiltskin relinquished his hold on his wife, knowing he had no right to help her.  He rose slowly, the compulsion to remain on his knees gone, glancing helplessly at the dagger now held in Emma’s hand. 

So she was next.  Apparently, freedom was a dream he would never realize.

“I gave Hook the dagger,” his wife replied softly.  “I didn’t trust myself.”

She wasn’t looking at him, and that was probably a good thing, because Belle might have stabbed him with it and hurt Rumplestiltskin less.  He’d done that, he knew.  He’d made his beautiful and strong wife doubt herself with his lies.  _Of course she doesn’t trust you,_ his curse taunted him.  _You’re a monster.  The Dark One.  That’s all you are, now._

“Then how the hell did you get stabbed with it?”

“I tried to take it back,” Belle said quietly, but at the same time Hook started to say:

“Emma—”

“No,” Emma cut her lover off in a hard voice that barely shook at all. “I _heard_ you, Killian.  I heard you refusing to let him heal her and saying that he could watch her die.  So you don’t get to make excuses.  Not today.”

The pirate gaped, but Rumplestiltskin barely noticed.  Part of him thought that he should feel victorious, because Emma had finally seen through the façade of the hero that Hook had been wearing for her.  But he was just tired.  He was tired of all the lies and all the revenge, broken into pieces that he knew would never be whole again.  Emma and her parents would probably lock him in a cage again, and he would be lucky if Belle ever decided he was worth visiting.  It was over, and Rumplestiltskin had never wanted to end things so badly as he did now.

Then Emma did something that surprised all three of them: the beauty, the pirate, and the Dark One.  She extended the dagger to Belle.  “Here.”

Belle took it, and Rumplestiltskin felt the slight shifting of control, felt what little remained of his soul now in the hands of another.  Even though it was Belle, he hated that feeling.  Hated the constriction and the loss of freedom, hated knowing that a thought could send him crashing to his knees or make him helpless to save those he loved.  He had not been able to save Bae, and had Emma not intervened, he would not have been able to save Belle, either.  _Because you’re a monster.  They’ll always cage you now._   The thought of Belle forcing him into a cage was even worse than the thought of the Charming clan doing it had been.  He wasn’t sure he could take that, even if he deserved it.

“Emma, love, you can’t,” Hook protested even as the dagger changed hands.  “You heard her.  Belle knows that she can’t trust herself because he’ll—”

“You don’t get to play that game, Killian Jones,” Belle cut the pirate off, her voice more angry than Rumplestiltskin had ever heard it.  “You ordered Rumplestiltskin to _kill me_ , and then you wanted to make him watch me die.   So, don’t you dare try to claim the moral high ground here.  I _trusted_ you, and I’ll never make that mistake again.”

“You need us here?” Emma asked, and the question was obviously directed at Belle, because what was he now, if not her slave?

Belle squared her shoulders, looking like she’d not been inches from death only moments earlier.  “No.  I’m fine.  I’d like to be alone with my husband.”

The last time she’d said something like that, Belle had commanded Rumplestiltskin to take her to the town line and had banished him.  He’d spent seven weeks outside of Storybrooke, six of them as a penniless cripple with no one to turn to and nothing to his name.  He’d almost let himself die of grief out there, until something in him had demanded that he make his way back to Storybrooke and at least apologize to her, but hadn’t that gone wrong, too?  And now he was likely to face the same thing all over again.  This time, however, Rumplestiltskin knew that he would not recover.  Not a second time.  This time, when she left him for dead, he would just give in and die.

He was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to watch Emma and Hook leave, too broken to even be properly angry at the pirate. That would come later, he knew, or at least it probably would.  It wouldn’t really matter if Belle banished him again.  So, he just stared blankly at the bloodstain on the floor, at where Belle had almost bled out while he was helpless to save her.  His hands were still sticky with her blood, and the right leg of his trousers was, too, but he hardly noticed that.  Not for the first time, he hated this damn curse he’d taken on.  He couldn’t be rid of it, not in this world, but all it had done since his unwilling resurrection was make him into a slave and a liar.  Maybe he should just leave Storybrooke and let himself die in the outside world.  Here he was immortal, but there he could just waste away.

Belle turned to face him after he was gone, and Rumplestiltskin looked up to steal a glance at her beautiful face.  But he couldn’t meet her eyes, not while she might send him away again.  He wasn’t fool enough to think that his apologies would be enough.  Not the letter, and not what he’d said while she was dying.  Rumplestiltskin had broken her trust, and he knew that he’d never get it back.

“We need to talk,” Belle said quietly, and Rumplestiltskin swallowed.  They did, but would she care to listen to anything he had to say?  He probably didn’t deserve that much.  She continued when he did not respond:  “Can I trust you to be honest?”

“I don’t have a choice while you hold that,” he whispered, nodding at the dagger and not meaning for the words to come out so bitterly.

“I never wanted this!” she burst out.  “I tried not to take it, and you kept giving it to me!  And then you gave me the fake so that I could lie for you, but I never _wanted_ to control you.  I just wanted you.”

“Except when I didn’t want to do what you wanted.”  The words escaped before Rumplestiltskin could stop them, and he hated himself for saying them.  But he could feel the demand for _honesty_ surging in through the dagger, and he had no choice.  No way to stop himself.  “ _Then_ you were fine with it.  _Then_ you didn’t care.”

“That wasn’t even real.”

“It was real enough.  It felt real,” he whispered, feeling like a hand was closing on his heart.  Even though Rumplestiltskin had only been playing along that day in the Snow Queen’s cave, he’d known in that moment that he could never give Belle back the real dagger, no matter how badly he wanted to.  Feeling like a slave, even to her, was enough to send him shaking and crying into a corner.  He’d never let her see those nightmares because she’d felt guilty enough, but they’d played over and over again in his mind until the day she’d actually controlled him, and broken him forever.

But he didn’t want to fight with her, didn’t want this to end with anger, so Rumplestiltskin just started to turn away, needing some space, needing some _anything_ to make the pain fade a little.

“Don’t,” Belle pleaded, but it was still a command, and his curse stopped him in mid-stride, making Rumplestiltskin stumble back until he was facing her.  He was a puppet on her strings, and the despair must have shown on his face.

“Then now what?” he whispered brokenly.  “Going to exile me again or lock me in a cage?  If so, please just get _on_ with it.”

 The blue eyes that were staring at him were starting to fill with tears, and a vicious part of Rumplestiltskin felt that was rather fitting, because he could feel the wetness on his own cheeks.  He didn’t know when he’d started crying, or if he’d just never stopped, but he couldn’t take Belle controlling him again.  Not like this.  And then she did something that rocked him to his very core.

“Take it,” she said, stepping forward and extending the dagger.

He blinked.  “What?”

“Take the dagger.  Please,” Belle whispered.  “Then stay or don’t.  It has to be your choice, Rumple.  I took that away from you once, and I shouldn’t have.  Take it.”

A better man would have told her to hold on to the dagger if she wanted honesty out of him, but Rumplestiltskin had always been a coward.  And while she held the dagger, her words were a command he could not avoid, so his right hand snaked out to snatch the dagger away before Belle could change her mind.  Immediately, the difference in his magic was apparent, and Rumplestiltskin could feel the chains falling away, and a relieved gasp escaped past his control.  But his shock was every bit as great as his relief; Belle had exiled him to save the town once, and now she was giving him the tools with which to do whatever he wanted.

_You could even find the hat again,_ a cold voice of opportunity said within him. _You could find your freedom, never be controlled, have power wherever in the world you want—_

The time for that was over, Rumplestiltskin knew.  He would not mock the gift Belle had just given him by doing the same thing she’d once stopped him from doing.  Not this time.  He could at least give her that, even if nothing else.  So, he just stared at the dagger, stared at his freedom, and felt his hands start to shake.  He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to thank the woman who he had loved so much and whose heart he knew he had broken.  He could only stare at the dagger until Belle started speaking again:

“Will you be honest with me?” she whispered. “Please?  If you stay?  I won’t hold you to what you said while you thought I was dying.  I just…I just need to _talk_ to you.”

Slowly, he looked up at her, swallowing back tears.  “I meant every word of it,” Rumplestiltskin replied around the lump in his throat.  “And…I’ll try.  You deserve that much.”

Belle nodded, and seemed to be gathering her courage.  “Why did you lie?” she asked.  “Was it because you were afraid of being controlled?”

“Yes.  Mostly.”  He didn’t know how to explain it, but fortunately, Belle didn’t ask for more.

“You killed Zelena.”

“I did.”  He bit his lip, and then reminded himself to be honest, not daring to look at her as he spoke. “I knew you’d hate me for it.  I knew you wanted me to be better…but she killed _Bae!_   And I promised him that I would kill her.  I couldn’t not, but I was…”

“You were?” she prompted, her voice surprisingly gentle.

“I knew you’d leave me if you knew.  Because then I would be the monster, and not what you wanted me to be,” Rumplestiltskin admitted brokenly.  “So I kept lying, because I didn’t know how to be what you wanted.  Because I knew you’d leave if you realized that I’m still just the Dark One.  That I’m still the beast.”

She’d told him that at the town line, and the words had never left him.  _Now I just see the beast._ And no matter how much he loved her, Rumplestiltskin knew that he was still the Dark One.  No amount of wishing on her part could change that, nor could even his frequent desire to be free of the darkness that chained him.  Belle wanted something he could never be, and he’d tried so hard to hide that from her so that he wouldn’t lose her earlier than he had to, and in doing so, Rumplestiltskin had only sped the process along.

“I just wanted you,” Belle said quietly, but he could see something in her expression.

“No, you wanted me to be _better_.  You wanted the monster to be gone,” he corrected her, hating himself for being so blunt, but now that he’d started talking, stopping was almost impossible.  “You said that in your _wedding vows._ ”

“Rumple, you saved everyone.  You tried to help when Zelena had the dagger, even though you couldn’t.  You _did_ change.”

“And look what it got me,” he said bitterly, biting his lip and trying not to shake.  The next words came out despite his desire to shove them away.  “I knew I was going to the Vault. I knew I was going into the deepest pit of darkness for eternity, but it was _worth it_ if it saved you and Bae.  But it didn’t.”

He was crying again, finally letting the pain and the rage over his son’s death out where someone could see it, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t stop himself.

“I didn’t ask to be brought back,” he continued in a tiny voice.  “Not at that price.  Not for anything.  My boy…”

Suddenly, there were arms around him, and Rumplestiltskin almost jumped out of his skin, having forgotten in the last nine weeks what it was like to have someone offer him solace.  He’d been so alone and had known that he _deserved_ to be alone, due to the way he’d hurt the only person left who cared about him.  And he hadn’t expected comfort now, not at all.  These were words he had never offered Belle because he didn’t want her to feel guilty for her part in his resurrection; when he’d wept, he’d kept her from waking, had tried to grieve in silence and in private, so not to make his wonderful wife feel worse.  But now the dam was broken, _he_ was broken, and he didn’t know how to stop telling her the truth once he’d started.

“I’m so sorry,” Belle whispered, holding him tightly.  Somehow, he started clinging to her.  “You never said…”

“I didn’t want to make you feel worse.  I know you didn’t know.  I know neither of you did.”  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure how he got those words out from between his sobs.

“I miss him, too,” Belle said, and somehow that helped.  For a long moment, they cried together, holding onto one another for dear life.  It wasn’t a solution; this wouldn’t fix their problems, but right then they could at least grieve together and be there for each other.  Perhaps he should have done this earlier, should have been honest with her, but he’d never known how to do that.  _Stop now,_ the curse inside him demanded, raging against the whirlwind of grief, love, and terror rolling through him.  _She’ll just leave you, anyway.  Don’t give her any more ammunition._

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” Rumplestiltskin said when he could find his voice again, forcing the whispers of his curse away and making himself apologize.  Belle deserved that.  He’d hurt her too badly to accept comfort like this without giving something in return.  “I just didn’t know how to tell you how… _afraid_ I was.  Of being controlled.  Because they didn’t care.”

Belle pulled back, and he almost whimpered, but she only moved far enough back to look in his eyes.  She was standing so close that he could almost touch her, but he didn’t dare.  Her face was creased with confusion.  “What do you mean?”

“You were the only one who cared that Zelena had control of me.  I sat in that cage, going mad with Bae”—he gulped hard—“with Bae in my head, and all they cared about was what I could tell them.  Then it was never about freeing me.  It was always about who could control me next.”

“You said in your letter that Regina picked up a fake dagger in the barn.”

“I had to know.  I wanted to know what they’d do, because I had to hope that these little precious heroes, who called me ‘family’ when it was useful to them, would give me my freedom back.”  His voice rose in pitch has he gestured wildly with his left hand; the right was still clinging too tightly to the dagger for that.  “And they didn’t.  All I am to them is a monster to be controlled, even when I _try_ to help.”

“I’m not sure that’s fair to them,” his good-hearted wife said slowly, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t stop the angry look he gave her.

“Isn’t it?” he demanded.  “Emma just listened to Hook refusing to let me heal you, knew he commanded me to _kill_ you, and she gave the dagger to you.  Not to me.”  He bit his lip.  “She didn’t even _look_ at me, like I’m some monster beneath her notice.”

“Rumple, your actions sometimes—” But she cut off just as he knew she was about to start telling him that his own actions brought that about, studying him.   “You really think that, don’t you?”

“You were the only one who ever cared about the man under the curse,” he answered, feeling tears start all over again.  “And even you used it to enslave me.  I don’t…blame you for stopping me.  I know you couldn’t be who you are and do anything else.  But you wouldn’t let me say anything.  You just shoved me away like I was some crippled piece of trash you never wanted.”

_Just like Milah did,_ Rumplestiltskin thought, but managed not to say it.

“And I wouldn’t even let you tell me that the gauntlet really did lead me to your greatest weakness, not your True Love,” she finished for him, and Rumplestiltskin found himself watching Belle pitifully, nodding brokenly.  The fact that she hadn’t even let him tell her that much had killed him at the time; he’d understood her anger and her betrayal, but somehow the fact that Belle also felt betrayed by something that wasn’t true was worse than the rest combined.  Because that meant she thought he’d never really loved her.  Now, however, she continued: “I realized that later, but by then it was too late.”

Hearing that made him close his eyes, bowing his head and gripping the dagger tightly, remembering his own heartbroken feeling of betrayal that had matched hers.  Rumplestiltskin had always known Belle would be angry, and he had always expected that she would leave him eventually, but he had never once imagined that she could listen to him say how afraid he was and shove him over the town line, anyway.

“I was just so _angry_ ,” she whispered.  “You’d lied and you’d used me, and then I walked up to find you trying to kill Hook, all for power.  I’ve never—or rarely, anyway—begrudged you your magic, but I just wanted to be first in your life.”  Her voice broke, and Rumplestiltskin wanted so badly to reach out to her, but he wasn’t sure that he’d earned that.  “I just wanted to know that your power didn’t mean more to you than I do, because I can never forget the way you told me that.”

“Belle…” Her name escaped without his willing it, and Rumplestiltskin swallowed back his own tears.  Or tried to, anyway.  “That was a lie even then.  I…I needed the power to find Bae, and I was…I was afraid.  Afraid of you.  Afraid I would love you, and that you’d see me for what I was, and that you’d leave.  Just like…”

Biting his lip, Rumplestiltskin cut himself off, but Belle finished his sentence again.  “Milah and Cora,” she said grimly.  “I always promised myself I wouldn’t be like them.  Until I was.”

“It’s not your fault,” he cut in quickly, hating to see the guilt on her beautiful face.  Tentatively, Rumplestiltskin reached out to touch her arm with his free hand, and watched blue eyes find his, uncertain and hopeful.  “Don’t doubt yourself.  You’ve always been the best and the strongest person I’ve ever known.  Don’t let what I did to you change that.”

There.  He could give her that, could take the blame, could maybe help her heal even though he knew he would never heal himself.   Belle, however, shook her head.

“You’re not the only one to blame, Rumple,” she corrected him bravely.  “I wanted you to be better so badly that I never stopped to ask what might be wrong.  I took your resurrection for granted and assumed that you had to be all right.  I should have asked.  Instead, I just tried to be everything for you, tried to be a reason for you to be better, without ever thinking about how hurt you might be behind the mask I _knew_ you were wearing.  The truth was too hard, so I ignored it.”

“You didn’t—”

“Yes, I did.  And then when I had the real dagger, when I’d stopped you, I could have asked you anything.  You would have had to tell me the truth, but I took my pain out on you instead.  I did the one thing I had promised myself I would _never_ do, and I saw how it broke you.  So don’t tell that it’s all right.  You started it, but I certainly played my part.”  Belle bit her lip, but Rumplestiltskin still heard the sob that came out.  “And then I told you that you’d lost me…right as I pushed you away.”

Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help swallowing hard, trying _not_ to replay those memories in his mind.  The only part that made it better at all was knowing that Belle had been broken by it, too.  Perhaps that was shallow of him, or perhaps he was just a coward, but if she had been able to coldly push him across the line, he never would have been able to care about anyone again. 

“I’m sorry,” Belle said again, her voice very tiny.  “I felt like I had to make a stand, but I made the wrong one.”

“I pushed you to it,” he replied, shaking his head and looking away.  His hand dropped away from her arm, because again he felt unworthy to touch her.  This was Belle, his beautiful and compassionate Belle, taking the world on her shoulders again.  But she didn’t deserve this pain.  He did.  “I’m the monster here, not you.  You said it yourself: you lost yourself trying to help me.  And that’s my fault.”

“Stop that,” she commanded, and Rumplestiltskin’s head snapped around to look at her so fast that his neck cracked.  “We’re both to blame.  Can’t you accept that?”

“I know what I am,” Rumplestiltskin said softly, regret making each word heavy.  Although he could hear the slender hint of hope in her voice, he knew that he didn’t deserve forgiveness.  Like he’d said in his letter, he didn’t blame Belle.  Rumplestiltskin knew which one of them had started this.

“And I gave the dagger to Hook and almost destroyed us both,” Belle reminded him, reaching out and grabbing his arm.  Her fingers were tight, and her hold was desperate, and it made him meet her eyes again.  “Don’t forgive me that if you’re not willing to let me forgive you.”

_Forgiveness?_ Rumplestiltskin had no idea what to say to that; he just stared into those blue eyes and felt himself falling all over again.

“Tell me you don’t love me, tell me that I destroyed everything we are, and I’ll leave you alone,” Belle whispered.  “But I…”

She cut off in a sob, and Rumplestiltskin felt his heart break for her.  Slowly, he reached out to touch her face with his free hand, his fingers trembling but somehow still finding the strength to touch the woman he was so sure he had lost forever.  “You didn’t destroy anything that I didn’t destroy first,” he said honestly.

“Then where are we now?”

“I don’t know.”  He swallowed.  _Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow._ Rumplestiltskin knew that he couldn’t bear to have her reject him again, but he could also hear what Belle was offering, could hear how the pain and the terror in her voice matched his own.  So, he had to take that chance.  Had to put his heart on the line.  She deserved that much, and more.  “But I know I still love you.”

“You do?” his wife asked, her voice tiny again and the grief and hope in her eyes enough to destroy him.

“I always will,” Rumplestiltskin whispered.  “Even when I wanted to hate you, I couldn’t.”

Suddenly, Belle was in his arms and kissing him, and the touch of her lips against his was the sweetest feeling in the world.  They clung to one another, needing each other like they needed air, pouring nine weeks of heartbreak, separation, and anger into that one kiss.  It was True Love’s kiss, though it would not break his curse, not in this world.  Things would never be so simple for them, for Rumplestiltskin had rejected Belle’s ability to free him the one time it would have worked. But they loved one another despite that, despite the darkness screaming within him and the way it hated this marvelous woman he held in his arms.  They were not perfect, and even this brutally honest conversation would not fix everything, but it was a start.

“Take me home,” Belle pleaded when they came up for air, and for a moment, Rumplestiltskin’s heart clenched in terror.  Was this it?

“You…you want me there?” he asked tentatively.

Nestling against his chest, he felt Belle nod.  “I don’t want to lose you.”

He knew that she had not chosen to use his words from _that_ night by accident, and Rumplestiltskin tipped his head downwards to kiss his wife’s hair.

“You never will,” he promised, and let his magic sweep them away to the pink mansion they had shared for far too short of a time.

* * *

 

“Emma, wait!” Hook’s voice came from behind her as she strode angrily away from the clock tower, having only kept her lover/boyfriend/whatever-he-was with her long enough to make sure that he left Belle alone with her husband.  Then Emma headed for the sheriff’s station, shoving away his attempts to explain.  She wanted space right now, not excuses, because Emma wasn’t sure _what_ to think.

She’d followed Belle up to the clock tower out of curiosity and a little worry; there was something in the other woman’s body language that set Emma’s alarm bells to ringing.  She hadn’t set out right away, having waited a few minutes, but once she arrived to find Belle on the floor bleeding, Killian taunting Gold, and Gold pleading for Belle’s life, Emma’s world had turned upside down.  She’d given heart to a pirate, not because she thought he was some perfect hero, but because she’d thought he could understand her.  She had rough edges, too, but nothing like this.  And Emma had never once imagined that Killian could do something so cold or so dark.  Even to Gold.

“Not now,” she snapped, yanking away when he caught up with her enough to grab her arm.

“Emma, please.  Let me explain,” Killian pleaded, and Emma stopped short, spinning to face him.

“Explain what, exactly?” she demanded.  “Explain how you were going to let Belle die?  And for what?  Just to have revenge on Gold?”

“I…I…I don’t know.  I don’t know what got into me.  I just couldn’t stop myself,” he replied, and damn it all if he didn’t look heartbroken.  But was that because Killian knew Emma was inches away from walking away from him, or because he regretted what he’d done?

Emma had a horrible feeling that it was the former.

“I thought you _meant_ it when you apologized for trying to kill her,” Emma snarled, wanting the truth out in the open here and now.

“I did!  I don’t have anything against Belle.  I just—he killed Milah!  And he tried to kill _you!_ ” Killian burst out, real pain contorting his face.  “And I wanted him to know how that feels.”

If he was hoping that his truthfulness would make Emma bend, Killian Jones was very far from the truth.  She just crossed her arms and waited, masking her own heartbreak with anger.  She had trusted this man, had given him her heart, and now she found out that he was willing to let an innocent woman die because he hated Gold.  _Again._

“I don’t know what I was doing.  Please, Emma, you’ve got to believe me on that.  I never meant for it to go so far,” he begged.

“Yeah, you never meant to leave a husband sobbing over his dying wife?”

“He’s not a husband, he’s the Dark One,” Killian spat, and Emma saw the old hatred in his eyes again now.  “Even _she_ was afraid of him.”

“I’m not listening to this right now,” she told him, shaking her head when Killian reached for her once more.  “I’m going to go back to work, and you…you go do whatever, and be glad that Belle’s alive so I’m not arresting you for murder.”

“Emma, love—”

“ _Don’t,”_ Emma cut him off with a snarl.  “You told me you were a better man, and today you proved you weren’t.  Right now, that doesn’t make you one bit better than Gold.  In fact, since he wasn’t trying to kill anyone, he’s got a leg up on you at the moment.” 

She could see that hurt from the way his head snapped back, but Emma had meant for it to.   Her heart was burning a hole in her chest right now; everything she’d started to hope for was unravelling.  Why _was_ it that she always fell for the wrong guys?  Why had she believed him when he said that he’d left revenge behind and was trying to be a better man?  Emma felt both light-headed and furious, and she wasn’t too good of a person to lash out when she was hurt.

“Don’t follow me,” she told Hook firmly.  “Just…don’t talk to me right now.”

He looked broken, and a part of her wanted to cry.  “Emma, please.”

“No.”  Turning on her heel, Emma strode away from the man she had thought she was falling in love with.  Maybe she’d be able to listen to him tomorrow.  Maybe something would change and she would feel more understanding.  But not today.  Today she was too angry, and feeling far too betrayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left me a comment or kudos! Rumbellers, hopefully this has left you in a better place than the last chapter. CaptainSwan fans, don’t despair—every couple in this fandom faces challenges, and this is one for them.
> 
> Next up: Belle and Rumplestiltskin return home and finally have a brutally honest conversation. Elsewhere, problems begin.


	3. III

Emotion did crazy things to people.  Belle knew that better than almost anyone.  She had made the worst mistake of her life when she’d been hurt and heartbroken, and she now understood enough to know that her husband had made the same kind of mistakes because he was afraid. Somehow, the knowledge that they had broken one another’s hearts—not to mention the clarity and honesty provided by her almost dying—helped them start to mend the hurts a little bit.  Although Belle knew that their (finally!) honest conversation would not fix everything, that they’d have months left of talking and trying to figure this out, she couldn’t think logically at the moment.  Right now, she was too relieved, and she had missed Rumple far too badly.  Nine weeks of living in this empty house, of telling herself that she would not let her grief drive her away of the one thing she had left of him, had made her want to cling to him more than ever before, had made her _need_ him.

Something in her husband must have read her mind, because Belle found that his magic had deposited them inside _their_ bedroom, and when she tipped her head up to kiss him, his lips were already there.  Belle heard a quiet _thunk_ as Rumplestiltskin’s hands tangled in her hair, but she was already too busy working on his tie to notice.  It joined the dagger on the floor, and suddenly her sweater was coming over her head, and Belle only felt a flicker of annoyance because that interrupted their kissing.  Lips lips found her neck and her hands found his jacket’s buttons, and Belle felt herself whimpering in desire.  Rumple had always been marvelous with his hands, and those beautiful fingers of his were running down her back, making her shiver.  She finally got his jacket off, banishing it to the floor as he shrugged out of it.

“Too many layers,” Belle complained, attacking his vest’s buttons and moving in to kiss him again.  “I love you.”

“My beautiful Belle,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, and she could hear the wonder and the need in his voice, too.

Who would have thought they would be here a few hours ago, ripping each other’s clothes off and needing one another so desperately?  But every touch of his was like a miracle, and the crushing loneliness that had weighed Belle down during the last two months was gone, now.  The heady feeling of having him _back_ was almost as potent as it had been when he was dead, and Belle could almost get drunk just off of the subtle scent of his cologne.  She was wiser, now, and understood herself a little bit better.  She wouldn’t be blind this time, and wouldn’t _want_ to be, either, but maybe they had both learned something.

Or perhaps she was a fool for trusting him again, but Belle had always known there were perils to falling in love with the Dark One.  Once, she’d told Baelfire that she loved all of his father, even the dark parts, and she had to remember that, now.  That didn’t mean that Belle had to let Rumplestiltskin walk all over her, but it did mean that she could love him.  _I can love him knowingly, and I can try to understand when he is afraid. Perhaps I can_ help _him instead of pressuring him to be better, and maybe then he can be honest with me if he’s not so afraid of losing me._   Another kiss took her breath away, and Belle could not find it in herself to regret loving Rumplestiltskin, not like she had for nine long weeks.  She wouldn’t let him use her again, but he hadn’t done that in the early days of their relationship, either.  They both had some growing to do, but perhaps they could do it together.

Heavens knew that she couldn’t live without him, so Belle would have to figure out how to live with him.

* * *

 

An hour later, they still lay tangled in the bed sheets, breathing hard and clinging to one another.  Belle knew that it was far too early to go to sleep—it was barely mid-afternoon—but she could relish the normality of having had (rather wonderful) sex with her (no longer estranged) husband.  But she still had to resist the urge to pretend that nothing had happened.  Rumple still obviously loved her as much as she loved him, and she _was_ touched by how honest he had been with her earlier.  She’d done the right thing when she gave him the dagger back, Belle knew.  She had broken his trust with far more than just lies, and she knew now that she couldn’t _force_ him to be better.  Not even with just the strength of her love.  Rumplestiltskin had to want it, and although Belle could help him with that, she couldn’t make him do it.

Somehow, that realization lifted a gigantic weight off of her shoulders that Belle had not even realized she was carrying. 

“I love you for who you are, you know,” she whispered, her head nestled into his shoulder and feeling safe with Rumple’s arm wrapped around her.  Their naked bodies were still pressed into one another, and although the afterglow was fading away, it was comfortable.  It was like coming home.  “I just don’t always understand you because you don’t let me in.”

“Belle, I—” He cut off, and she knew that he didn’t know what to say.  But fortunately, her tongue-tied husband had been much more verbose in the clock tower when they’re poured their broken hearts out to one another, so she could guess.

Twisting around to lie on her stomach and look him in the eye, Belle put a finger on his lips.  “There’s nothing in your past that could hurt worse than what we’ve already done to one another,” she told him, making sure Rumplestiltskin looked into her eyes as she spoke.  Belle needed for him to know that she meant every word.  “I can’t say I’ll always be happy with you, but if you promise to talk to me, to tell me the truth, I promise I won’t walk out again.  I know I’ve done it before.”

She’d always walked out because she needed her space, but Belle had never really thought of how that must have fed Rumplestiltskin’s continuous fear of her leaving him.  She wanted to smack herself for that now that she thought of it, because of _course_ he always thought that he could scare her away.  She’d walked out on him three times instead of confronting him with what she wanted or didn’t understand, waiting for him to come crawling back to her on _her_ terms.  And that wasn’t bravery.  That was avoiding facing problems.  _I won’t do that again,_ Belle promised them both.  _I’ll face things when I know they’re wrong, and not expect Rumple to overcome his issues when I want him to, just to keep me._

Belle had done a lot of thinking while Rumplestiltskin was gone, and she’d come to understand that the mess their marriage had become was not only due to the fact that Rumplestiltskin couldn’t be honest with her.  She was at fault, too.  He’d lied to her, yes, but why?  Rumple had told her that he was afraid she’d leave him if he told her the truth, and Belle had a feeling that covered a lot more than just the truth about the dagger and the Sorcerer’s Hat.  She had to stop putting conditions on their relationship.  She had to love him or not—even the dark parts of him—for what he was.  And Rumplestiltskin _was_ cursed.  She couldn’t expect him to become a perfectly good man just because she wanted him to.  Belle might have fallen in love with the man beneath the monster, but she could not allow herself to forget that the monster was there.  _That monster is gone,_ she told him during their wedding vows, and no wonder he had been terrified to even admit to her that the darkness remained.  Sometimes it was easy to forget that Rumplestiltskin was not nearly as emotionally stable as he pretended to be.

“It’s not your fault,” he said, and Belle was pretty sure that was an automatic answer.  Silly man.  He always thought everything bad was his doing, even when it was both of them.  His pessimism wasn’t always healthy for their relationship, either, but at least if she _remembered_ he was like this, she could help manage it better.

“Not entirely, no,” she replied honestly.  “But we’ve both been doing this wrong, haven’t we?”

Rumplestiltskin took a moment before answering: “I think so, yes.”

“Good.”  She smiled a little, and leaned in to kiss him gently.  “Then that means we can make it right.”  Something twitched across his face, self-doubt or terror, and Belle kissed him again.  “I know it won’t be easy, but isn’t True Love supposed to be fought for?”

“Yes.  Yes, it is.”  That made him smile a little, finally, and Belle could see his love for her shining in his eyes.  How had she managed to forget that in her anger?  How had she managed to forget the way Rumple looked at her, as if she was the center of his universe and nothing else mattered?  She’d been so angry after finding that gauntlet, after thinking that he might have set that entire little trade up just to fool his maid, that she had forgotten the way he was looking at her now.

“Will you make that deal with me, Rumple?” she asked him again, thinking that if perhaps she put it in familiar terms, he would find it easier to deal with, easier to wrangle his emotions into line.  After all, Rumplestiltskin never broke a deal, and maybe Belle had gone about trying to help him in all the wrong ways before.  “Honesty for honesty?   I won’t walk out because of something you tell me.  I promise.”

She could see his hesitation, could see three centuries of pain and heartbreak making it hard for him to trust once more, even when he loved her.  But slowly, Rumplestiltskin nodded.  “It’s a deal,” he said hoarsely.  “If you’ll tell me when you’re unhappy.  Don’t try to cover it up so that you can be the strong one.”

“I…I can do that.”  Belle hadn’t expected that, hadn’t expected him to turn the tables on her like that.  But she had married a very perceptive man, one who always wanted to make her happy. Perhaps he felt like he’d been ignoring the signs of problems, too.

“Then we have a deal.”  Hesitantly, his arms snaked around her, and Belle let herself relax into his shoulder once more.  There were still things she needed to know, but hopefully this was a better way to do things.  Then her husband shuddered slightly, admitting quietly: “I think you’ll have to push me, sometimes.  I don’t…I didn’t want you to know what a mess I was.  I wanted to protect you from that.  From _me_.”

“Same here,” Belle admitted, a watery laugh bubbling up.  “Or at least the first part.  I always wanted to be strong for you. I was so afraid to be anything less and let you down.”

“Oh, sweetheart.  You could never let me down.  You’re—”

“Not perfect,” she cut him off.  “And I think I killed myself trying to be that.”

“Honesty for honesty, then,” Rumplestiltskin said softly, and Belle felt his arms squeeze her tightly.  “You don’t have to be strong all the time.  Perhaps…perhaps sometimes I can be strong for you.  Or at least I can try.”

“You’re so much stronger than you think you are,” Belle replied, hating the way he put himself down like that.  She’d called him a coward before, but later she had learned that it was a label that he lashed himself with far more viciously than she ever could.  Rumplestiltskin had spent his life _believing_ himself a coward, and how badly did that affect him?  She had seen him make amazingly brave decisions, yet he still thought of himself as such.  “ ‘Courage is doing what you're afraid to do’,” she quoted softly.  “ ‘There can be no courage unless you're scared’.”

The saying had come from this world, years before anyone had ever dreamed of a town called Storybrooke, but Belle thought it fit their situation very well.

“I’ll try to remember that,” her husband promised, and Belle smiled.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the lovers who were making up or the ones who were still fighting, the Queens of Darkness had lost control of their newest pet.  Still angry with Regina, Maleficent had stolen into the Evil Queen’s vault and removed an amphora that had once adorned her castle until Regina’s curse had stolen it away.  As far as Maleficent was concerned, she was simply repossessing something that belonged to her, but unfortunately, things did not always go as planned when one had caged an elemental demon of darkness.

Elemental demons were as old as the Enchanted Forest itself, ancient and powerful. Some said that they were the source of all magic, others that their magic was older and more primitive than that of humans or fairies.  As old as she was, Maleficent knew more about her little pet than most, and she knew that the best way to keep it under control was to never let it out of the bottle, so to speak.  Yet the demon still would make for an effective way to threaten the author, because actually _killing_ an elemental demon was next to impossible, even if you already knew how.  Of course, they’d yet to find the mysterious author, but when they did, they could threaten to turn the demon loose on him.  After all, Maleficent knew how to target the demon, and she’d be sure to send it in the right direction.

Unfortunately, what Maleficent _didn’t_ know—and what Ursula didn’t notice when she moved the amphora a few hours after Maleficent stole it away from Regina—was that there was a small crack in the clay, right near the bottom.  The opening was small, but it had been growing little by little, creeping just a little wider while the demon worked away on it.  After all, a creature that was over a thousand years old was patient.  It had been in that amphora for over two hundred years, and the demon was willing to take its time.  It never could have escaped had the amphora still been within the protective magic of Regina’s vault, but the lair of the Queens of Darkness was not so well protected.

So the demon waited.  And slowly worked its way free.

* * *

 

A little while later, hunger won out over the need to cling to one another, and the pair crawled out of bed to take a shower.  They were both hesitant to do so together, but in the end, neither wanted to be apart, and Belle found herself holding onto Rumplestiltskin’s hands like they were a pair of teenagers sneaking away from their parents.  Then again, in her case, it might not be so far off, because her father had been _delighted_ when he’d found out that she’d ‘kicked that beast to the curb’.  He wouldn’t be too happy now, but Belle hoped that Sir Maurice would understand.  And if he didn’t, well, she and her father had been at odds before.

“You kept my clothes,” Rumplestiltskin said with wonder after they’d both dried themselves off, looking at the neat drawers of socks and underwear with awe.  Belle blushed.

“I missed you,” she admitted.  “Even when I was so angry I couldn’t see straight.  And it was your house.  I didn’t feel like I had the right.”

“I came back because I missed you,” he answered, looking at her with hesitant brown eyes that said he was afraid she wouldn’t believe him.  “When Hook summoned me the first time…I hoped it was you.”

“Then why were you so angry when we saw one another the first time?” Belle had to ask, not even looking at the clothes she was putting on.

He looked away, and Belle thought she saw his eyes shut tightly.  “Because you were smiling and normal and I thought you were just angry to see me, not surprised.  Because I was afraid that if I tried to say I was sorry, you’d just banish me again.”

Half clothed though she was, Belle walked right into his arms and they held one another tight for a long moment.  “Never again,” she promised.  “And I wouldn’t have.  I missed you too much.  Even when I wanted to hate you.”

“I’m sorry,” Rumplestiltskin whispered again, and Belle stopped the apology with a kiss. 

“I know.  Me, too.”  She made herself smile.  They were both hurting, but they had to try for some sort of life together, too, not just dredging up one another’s wounds.  “But you promised to cook for me.”

“If you have anything in the house,” he replied dubiously, and Belle finally saw that teasing smile that she knew had always only been for her.  “I know how _talented_ you aren’t in the kitchen.”

The giggle surprised her.  “I only burnt down the kitchen _once_ , and that was back in the Dark Castle,” she objected.

“Once too often, sweetheart.”  But he softened the words with a fingertip that bopped her in the nose, and Belle smiled.  His brown eyes, still so tired and so sad, finally twinkled a little in response.  “Now, put some clothes on before I drag you back into bed.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” she pointed out, leaning into kiss him gently before pulling reluctantly away.  “Later?”

“So long as you want me,” Rumplestiltskin promised, and Belle gave him a smile over her shoulder while she grabbed a pair of leggings. 

“I always want you, Rumplestiltskin.”

She loved the way his face colored slightly when she winked at him like that, loved the way the hard edges softened for her.  But she _was_ hungry, so Belle finished getting dressed, and then moved over to start picking up their clothes from the messy piles they’d wound up in a few hours earlier.  It was a miracle neither of them had tripped on their way to the bed, but given how they’d been feeling at the time, they probably would have just made love on the floor if that’s where they had landed.  _I think that would have created some uncomfortable bruises, though_ , Belle smiled to herself, examining her still-torn sweater and deciding if she wanted to get it fixed or not.  She supposed that she could launder it and then see what came of that.  She picked up Rumple’s tie, next, noticing how wrinkled it was, and then his jacket, which would definitely need to go to the dry cleaners.

The kris dagger was underneath Rumplestiltskin’s jacket, just sitting on the floor.  Vaguely, Belle remembered hearing it drop when they’d been yanking one another’s clothes off, but at the time she hadn’t stopped to investigate what the noise was.  But now there it was, plain as day.  Rumplestiltskin must have let it go before she’d felt both of his hands on her, must not have bothered to even put it somewhere safe first.  Warmth stole through Belle, and she felt a catch in her breath.  _I just wanted to be chosen,_ she had told him when he broke her heart, but maybe Belle had been looking at it all wrong.  Rumplestiltskin was cursed.  There was no avoiding that, no avoiding his magic—and she knew he’d probably never feel safe without it, and that _that_ insecurity had nothing to do with her.  Belle had never really wanted him to give the power up.  She just wanted to know that she was more important to him than magic.

Perhaps this was just a small sign, but when he’d chosen to hold onto her or the dagger, he’d chosen Belle.  They were at home, of course, and it was safe here, but Belle now knew enough to know that he was terrified of even her controlling him.  Or perhaps _especially_ her, because Belle could hurt him worse than anyone else could.  Yet he’d still let it go.

Picking up the dagger, Belle turned to face her husband, who had just finished buttoning a dark purple shirt and tucking it into a fresh pair of creased black trousers.  “You dropped this,” she said softly, extending the dagger to him.

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes went a little wide, and Belle realized that he hadn’t made that choice consciously.  He’d just wanted _her_ , and had forgotten about the power and the possibility of being controlled.  And that made it mean _so_ much more.  She could see the tension rolling through him now, the fear he was trying to fight back, and while Belle knew that he wanted to trust her, just as she wanted to trust him, it would take time.  So, she stepped forward and took his right hand in her left, placing the dagger in his palm and wrapping his fingers around the hilt.

“This is yours,” Belle told her husband, squeezing his hand that held the dagger.  “Your choices need to be your own.”

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely, and she could see him swallowing hard.

“Put it somewhere no one can find it,” she begged him.  “Please.  Even me.”

Rumplestiltskin met her eyes, and Belle finally saw the ghost of a smile light up his broken features.  “How about I do better than that?” he asked, his left hand coming up to land on the hand she still rested on top of his.  “I’ll show you where I keep it, make it so only you and I can get at the dagger.  And that way, if you ever need me, or if you ever have to stop me, you can.”

“You’d…do that?”  Belle blinked.  She had expected anything but that level of trust from him, not after how badly she’d hurt him.

“I can’t give it back to you,” he admitted softly.  “I’ll always be too afraid, and I’d probably—”

“You shouldn’t,” she cut him off.  “I don’t want your freedom, Rumple.  I don’t want you to be anyone’s slave, _especially_ mine.”  Belle squeezed his hands.  “But I do appreciate your trust.”

“I do trust you.  Or at least I’m trying to.  Sometimes it’s hard,” Rumplestiltskin said, and Belle nodded. 

Had he offered her the dagger again, she probably would have screamed at him and not believed him, or might have thought he was so broken that he didn’t know what to do.  But even if he’d given her the real one, even if he never took it back—or she ordered him not to, which she’d never done before—they both knew that he’d come to resent her for that, given time.  Even if every one of Belle’s actions was done out of love for him, he would still resent the loss of his freedom.  _As well he should.  I never should have let him make me take it in the first place,_ she thought, _and I never should have tried to tell him not to kill Zelena._ Belle still didn’t agree with murder, but she firmly believed it when she told him that his choices had to be his own.  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t be better if someone forced him to be.

“I love you,” she reassured him, coming up on her tiptoes to kiss him lightly.  “And I promise that I won’t abuse your trust.  Not again.”

“Neither will I yours,” Rumplestiltskin swore, and they hid the dagger together.

* * *

 

Chinese delivery turned out to be the best answer for dinner; Belle _did_ have nothing in the house except frozen dinners, eggs, and some leftovers from Granny’s.  Rumplestiltskin had thought that she hadn’t been taking good care of herself, but this confirmed it, and he made a mental note to get some grocery shopping done and cook properly for her tomorrow.  Belle had really been a terrible maid back in the Dark Castle; she was a brilliant academic and better company than he could ever have wished for, but beyond cleaning the floors and dusting, she’d been rather useless.  Not that Rumplestiltskin had minded, even at the time.  Right from the beginning, Belle had been a ray of light in his so very dark world, and he had treasured her for that even when she bossed him around, sassy and bold like no one else ever was with the Dark One.  Now, however, he could see how she’d been fading away over these past nine weeks—just like _he_ had been—and all he could do was promise himself, yet again, that he would somehow make things right.

He was terrible at loving and being loved, but for her, he would truly try to be better this time.  Rumplestiltskin had made that promise at his son’s grave, and had thought that giving Belle the dagger, the _real_ dagger, would let him be better, because then her goodness would stop him when he could not stop himself.  But Belle had been right.  His choices _had_ to be his own, and he had no right to expect her to do it for him.  Now he could see the toll that burden had taken on her, and he did love her more than anything.  _I won’t be a burden to her,_ he promised himself, certain that he could at least do that much.  The honesty he had promised Belle would be harder, but he would work to keep that deal, too.  Because she deserved that after the way he had hurt her.  Rumplestiltskin had never imagined that Belle would take him back, not after everything he had done, and he had to be worthy of that second chance.

At the moment, however, he could hardly believe that he was sitting at the kitchen table, at _home_ , with the woman he loved.  Belle had been telling him some funny story about something idiotic the dwarves had gotten up to during the last few weeks—something involving a Miata, a bottle of glue, and a dead cat.  It felt nice to laugh, to really laugh, just to relax and smile and feel at home.  Feeling full was also nice, because Rumplestiltskin hadn’t forgotten the feeling of being penniless again, of never having enough to eat or somewhere safe to sleep.  The last few weeks, after he’d allied with the Queens of Darkness, had been a little better, but Rumplestiltskin had never forgotten the feeling of being a starving peasant before this, so he certainly wasn’t going to now.  Still, he glossed over the worst bits of that for Belle when she asked, not wanting her to feel more guilty than she already did for her actions.  She never would have done that if he hadn’t been so horrible to her, so Rumplestiltskin figured at least half the blame for that laid at his feet.

Belle, however, probably saw right through him when she reached out and took his hand.  How had he ever managed to lie to her? 

“Want to go sit on the couch for a bit?” she suggested tentatively, and it was almost like it had been in the beginning of their relationship, when they were getting used to admitting that they loved one another, desperate to touch one another and yet afraid to.

“I’d love to,” he replied honestly, and let Belle lead him into the living room.  They sat down together, side by side and each not letting go of the other’s hand. 

“Can we talk?” Belle asked after a moment of not-uncomfortable silence.  “Or is it still too raw?”

“Raw is better,” Rumplestiltskin admitted reluctantly.  “I’m more likely to be honest.  I’m not very good at telling the whole truth, you know.”

She smiled gently.  “I’ve noticed.”  But the words came with a squeeze of his hand.  “Will it help if you start?”

“I wouldn’t know what to ask.”  But her question made him blink, made him wonder what he would ask her, if he could ask her anything at all.  Belle had told him why she’d forced him across the town line, but she hadn’t really answered the other thing he needed to know.  He’d forgiven her, but…

“Are you sure?” she prodded him, ever perceptive.  Rumplestiltskin shrugged uncomfortably.

“I guess I just want to know why you gave the dagger to Hook,” he said slowly.  “I know you said that you didn’t trust yourself, or me, but why _him_?”

Now it was Belle’s turn to look away, shamefaced, and Rumplestiltskin immediately felt terrible for bringing it up.  They both knew how badly it had turned out—intimately so—but he didn’t want to hurt her with his question, much though he _needed_ to know the answer.

“I thought he’d changed,” she admitted quietly.  “Hook said that you’d taken his heart to stop him from telling Emma your plans, and that you were going to kill him to complete your spell with the Sorcerer’s Hat.  And he’d fought his way back from being a villain.  He knew what it was like to make bad choices, and I thought he understood the ones I’d made.  So, I thought that he could do what I couldn’t, and keep you from hurting anyone.”  Blue eyes turned to him, wide and desperate.  “I never thought he’d hurt you, Rumple.  He promised that he’d only do what had to be done.”

“Like sending me to my knees every time he summoned me,” Rumplestiltskin said bitterly, and cursed himself for letting the words come out when Belle winced. 

“Why would he do that?” she whispered.

“Because he’s not as _good_ as he wants people to believe,” he snapped, and then forced his temper back, squeezing his eyes shut until he had it under control.  Belle didn’t need to see him raging, and Rumplestiltskin almost cut off there until he remembered his promise to be honest.  And, well, maybe the pirate deserved to have _his_ dirty laundry aired for a little while.  Fair play and all.  Rumplestiltskin opened his eyes.  “He blackmailed me several times before I took his heart,” he explained slowly.  “Saying that he’d guessed I gave you a fake, and that he’d tell you so that you left me.  So I blackmailed him right back, forced him to help me, and then when he stopped doing that, I took his heart.”

“I don’t think that makes killing him right, Rumple,” Belle said cautiously, as if she was afraid he might explode.

_But does what he did this afternoon make it right?_ he wanted to ask, but stopped himself in time.  Rumplestiltskin only shrugged again, and figured he might as well tell her the truth.

“I didn’t care about killing him until I was told that I needed his heart,” he said honestly.  “Or, at least not until he threatened our marriage.  I didn’t—still don’t—know how to deal with the thought of losing you, Belle.  It makes me go to pieces, and it makes me a fool.  But by then, I knew I was digging myself deeper and deeper, and that you’d go eventually, and I just wanted to treasure the time we had left because I had no idea how to be what you wanted me to be, and not living up to your expectations was tearing me apart.”

A hand reached up to touch his face, and Rumplestiltskin leaned into her touch.  He was fairly sure that he was out of tears after that afternoon’s waterworks, but being so honest was exhausting.  He was too used to hiding behind three centuries’ worth of walls to find coming out easy.

“Why do you always think that I want you to be like that?” Belle asked as her fingers drifted into his hair, stroking gently.  It was the way she always calmed him when she woke him from the rare nightmare he didn’t catch before she could see it, and Rumplestiltskin felt like melting.  But his voice still cracked when he answered:

“Don’t you want me to be some hero?”

“No.  I just want you to be _you_.  Rumplestiltskin, not the Dark One.  The man I know is under the monster,” his wife replied, shifting closer to him.  Now their shoulders were touching, and he let his head drop to lean against hers, forehead to forehead.

“He’s not a very good man, most of the time, this Rumplestiltskin,” he answered raggedly.  “I’m not like you.  I’m not strong, or brave, or…”

“Neither am I, much of the time.”  Belle’s laugh was just as ragged, and suddenly Rumplestiltskin remembered what she had said while they laid in bed together, about wearing herself out trying to be strong for him.

“You are,” he answered, tipping his head back to look her in the eyes.  “And I’m not saying that because I need you to pretend to be strong when you aren’t, but I’m saying that because you _are_ the strongest and most amazing woman I have ever met.  And the most loving.”

“Loving I can be.  I’m not always sure about the rest,” she said quietly. 

“I’ll help,” he promised, raising his hand to her cheek in return and kissing her on the forehead.  “You tried to help me find myself.  Let me help you do the same, because I know who you are.  I’ve always known.”

“Oh, Rumple,” she breathed, and he wrapped his arms around her while she buried her head in his chest.  They clung to one another in silence for several long moments, but for once in his long life, Rumplestiltskin actually felt like he was doing the right thing.  Maybe he _could_ help her, just by virtue of loving her?  Of standing by her when she needed someone.  He’d known how to do that, once, and yet he’d lost track of that during his mad quest for freedom.  He’d almost sacrificed everything that mattered to him because he’d trusted his ability to lie to the woman to whom he had promised his heart to.  How could she be the light in his life if he didn’t let her in?

After several minutes of internal struggle, Rumplestiltskin forced himself to speak, gathering the discordant shreds of his courage.  “Your turn,” he said softly.  

“Are you sure?”

“No,” he snorted.  “But you’d best ask, anyway.”

Belle sat up, and Rumplestiltskin tried not to flinch under the scrutiny of her beautiful gaze.  They were going to be all right, weren’t they?  She had promised not to leave if she didn’t like his answers, and he had promised to be truthful.  He had to cling to that.  Had to not give up hope just because he was afraid.

But the thought of opening up further terrified him.

“Will you tell me what it feels like to be controlled with the dagger?” Belle asked, taking his hands in her own.  “I know you’re afraid of it…but I’d like to understand why.  If you can tell me.  You don’t have to.”

That made him swallow hard, and Rumplestiltskin almost immediately took the out that she offered, almost immediately shied away from the very _thought_ of explaining those horrors to her.  But he had also trusted her with the location of the dagger, had trusted Belle with access to it if she needed it.  Perhaps it was better if she knew the truth, because she obviously _hadn’t_ understood the day she’d commanded him to take her to the Snow Queen’s cave.  _She didn’t understand because you never_ told _her,_ the voice of reason reminded him.  He’d avoided the topic of his time with Zelena again and again, just shrugging it off and saying that she’d been bossy and she’d kept him locked up because it amused her.  Maybe if Belle understood, she would never do that to him again.  Maybe then he could relax about having chosen to trust her with the dagger’s location.

Even when she hadn’t known, she’d felt terrible about controlling him, Rumplestiltskin knew.  Belle had felt unworthy of _him_ after she’d done it, and although that was one of the more ludicrous ideas he’d ever heard in his life, he knew that it ate at her.  Just like banishing him had.  Her apology on that front had been as heartfelt as his for lying to her, and that finally made Rumplestiltskin’s mind for him.

“Like being in chains,” he answered softly, staring down at their intertwined hands and gathering strength from her presence.  “I have no choice in doing what someone commands me to do. I can fight it, but it _hurts_.  And I always lose.”

“Why?”  Had there been any blame in her voice, Rumplestiltskin would have clammed up.  But there wasn’t, so he managed to continue with a shudder:

“Because all magic comes at a price, and this is the price of my curse.  I’ve always known that nearly every Dark One loses the dagger at some point, but I never really understood what it was like.  Hook told me to kneel, and I had to kneel.  He told me to kill you…and even if I fought, even if I’d been blind with pain, my body still would have obeyed, like a puppet on strings.”  He squeezed his eyes shut against the memories, trying to fight back the images of things he’d been forced to do. 

His hands were shaking, and he couldn’t stop them, even when Belle squeezed his fingers comfortingly.  She waited, and finally more words spilled out.

“Even if I want to fight, even if I want to do better, if someone holds the dagger, I have no choice.  I have to do what they say, whatever it is,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, willing his trembling to stop.  It didn’t.  “Even when I begged him to let me save you, or—”

He clamped his mouth shut, not letting the rest out.

“I never thought it was that complete until I could hear you pleading with him and Hook not letting you,” Belle admitted.  “I always thought that if you fought it hard enough, if I loved you enough, you could break free.”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head miserably, finally opening his eyes.  “I tried,” he breathed, feeling himself continue to shake.  “Then and…”

“With Zelena,” she finished for him, and he nodded convulsively, hoping Belle would change the subject to anything but that.  But she must have noticed him shaking, must have seen the sick expression on his face, because Belle asked:

“What did she do to you, Rumple?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the wonderful feedback! I am aiming to write a story where Belle and Rumplestiltskin both have to bend and learn about one another, and knowing that others feel the same is just wonderful.
> 
> Next up: Rumplestiltskin forces himself to share what Zelena actually did to him, the Queens of Darkness cause problems, and Killian tries to figure out how he reverted to his old, vengeance-driven self so quickly.


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: References to past rape/non-con.

“What did she do to you, Rumple?”

Here it was.  The thing he’d tried to bury, the one thing he’d tried to banish from his own memory.  He’d done everything he could short of taking a forgetting potion, had buried himself in Belle and their marriage—which he’d promptly screwed up almost beyond repair—had embraced his darkness and his anger because they didn’t make him feel helpless, and still the scars remained.  The last person he wanted to tell about this was Belle, but she was also the only person he could talk to.  She was the only person in this entire town who felt he was human at all, the only one who might _care_ about what Zelena did to him.  To the others, he was just the Dark One, and he obviously didn’t feel pain like anyone else.  To Belle…well, he could only pray that this didn’t make her think that he was trash beneath her feet, too.

“She forced me.”  The words poured out before he could decide if he was going to speak or not, because they’d been bottled up for so long that the cork had burst and out came the truth.  “Almost every night.  She’d chain me down or command me to _please_ her, and I tried to fight, Belle—I _tried_.”  Apparently, he still could cry, because tears were streaming down his face again, hot and salty.  “I didn’t want to betray you like that, and I tried so hard…” 

He lost the rest of the sentence in a sob, and couldn’t bear to look at the woman who he had sworn to love forever.  Being with Zelena had been a betrayal of everything he had with Belle, and no matter how much he’d buried himself in darkness, he’d never been able to wipe that shame and helplessness away.

“She raped you,” Belle said, her voice hard and angry.

Angry with him?  It was too late to take the words back, and bitterness boiled out of him, anyway.

“She made me enjoy it,” Rumplestiltskin spat angrily, remembering the way Zelena had used magic on him, had used _his_ magic, to make him responsive and to manufacture desire for her.  Knowing it was false hadn’t helped lessen the shame over how his body reacted to her commands, hadn’t helped Rumplestiltskin feel any less subhuman and worthless.

“Oh, Rumple,” Belle whispered, and suddenly she was drawing him into her arms again, and relief made Rumplestiltskin shake even harder than the memories did.  Somehow, he started sobbing, and Belle held him gently, stroking his hair and whispering that it would be all right.  He wasn’t sure how long he cried, or how the words started tumbling out:

“I always feel so defenseless.  I always wonder when the next person is going to do something like that, or make me hurt you,” he rambled helplessly.  “She wanted to.  I somehow managed to convince her to hurt me instead, taunted her about how it wasn’t really power if she couldn’t force me to do it without the dagger.  But I never knew how long it would last, or when she’d get bored, or when I might shatter.”  Rumplestiltskin cut off, his chest heaving madly as he remembered those horrible days, remembered Zelena’s hands and pain and sex and—

His whimper must have been audible, because he felt lips touch his forehead and Belle’s arm around him tighten.  His face was still buried in her shoulder, and his hands were clinging to her desperately.  She hadn’t turned him away.  She hadn’t shoved him away in disgust, hadn’t said that he was worthless or weak.  Milah would have, but Belle wasn’t Milah.  She was still holding him, and he needed her so badly.  He hadn’t known how to cope with what Zelena did, so Rumplestiltskin had never really tried; he’d just pushed it aside and focused on never letting anyone ever control him again.  _Not that that idea worked out very well,_ he thought with despair.  But he was still shaking, and Belle was still holding him, and somehow he actually felt a little safer than he had before.

Belle let him cry out the horrors, just holding him and stroking his hair.  Eventually, Rumplestiltskin calmed down, the tension bleeding out of his body as he allowed himself to relax into her embrace and accept the fact that this really wasn’t going to make her leave him.  Finally, Belle asked the predictable question:

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Who was I supposed to tell?” he asked her left shoulder, his voice barely audible even to his own ears.  “I didn’t want you to know that I’d betrayed you like—”

“Rumple,” she cut him off, and her voice was firm again.  “Zelena made you do that.  You didn’t want to, did you?”

“No!”

“Then why would you believe I’d think you betrayed me?” his wife asked bluntly.  “I love you, Rumple.  I would never think that.”

“I don’t know,” he whispered miserably.

“That’s why you wanted more power, isn’t it?  Freedom?  To keep yourself from being hurt again?” Belle guessed, and Rumplestiltskin nodded.

“I was her slave,” he admitted.  “I’m the slave to anyone who has that dagger.  I can’t protect myself and I can’t protect you.”

“Without your curse—”

“You can’t break it here,” Rumplestiltskin cut her off, not wanting to have this used as an argument against his magic.  He sat up, wiping angrily at his face to brush the tears away.  Belle could say nothing to him that he hadn’t already told himself, but the conclusion was still inescapable: “And even if you could, without magic, I’d be just as powerless.  I have too many enemies.  They could make me into whatever they wanted me to be, and it would be no different.  I’d just have no hope of escape at all.”

“What _was_ your life like before becoming the Dark One?” she asked suddenly, and she caught his hands in her own once more, her touch gentle but firm.

“I was nothing,” he ground out.  “Powerless, penniless, and pathetic.  The town cripple and the town coward.  I couldn’t even protect Bae until I took the curse on.  They would have taken him from me, made him fight in a war where every child they took died.  I was nothing.”

“And then I made you into that again when I exiled you,” Belle whispered, and Rumplestiltskin’s heart broke at the pain in her expression.

“You didn’t mean to, sweetheart,” he said softly. “I knew that even then.”

“But it means you’re never going to want to give this up, even if you could, doesn’t it?”

He had to brace himself, knowing that the truthful answer might just drive her away in the end.  But Rumplestiltskin had gotten himself into this mess with lies, and more would only hurt them both.  “Yes.  Probably.”  He bit his lip.  “I hate it, my curse.  But I don’t know how to live without it.  I’m too afraid.”

“I won’t ask you to,” Belle replied immediately, and Rumplestiltskin’s heart leapt as she leaned in to kiss him gently.  Her lips tasted like tears, his and hers both, but the relief rolling through him made even those sweet.  “Not unless there’s a time when we _know_ we can all be safe.  Especially you.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“It’s not about deserving, Rumple,” she said, stroking his face.  “It’s about loving.  And I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Rumplestiltskin would never remember which one of them moved first, but their arms wrapped around one another once more, and Rumplestiltskin found himself buried in his wife’s embrace again.  “I’m sorry that I made you feel like that again,” she whispered in his ear.  “I never knew why you wanted the power. I thought it was just about…power.”

He shook his head.  “I’ve never been safe without it.  Or been able to protect anyone I love.”

It went without saying that he hadn’t been able to protect Bae in the end, not for all the power in the world, but that wasn’t Belle’s fault.  His power had let him keep his son alive for almost a year longer than he might have otherwise, had let Bae say goodbye to Emma, even if he’d never gotten a chance to speak to his own son.  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t regret that desperate and mad attempt to save Baelfire, for all that it had cost him in terms of his own sanity and safety.  Bae had always been worth any sacrifice…just like Belle was. 

“I think I understand,” Belle said slowly, stroking his hair again.  She knew him too well; that helped him relax more than almost anything else did.  “Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Anything,” he answered, because what could be worse than what he’d already told her?  Belle knew the truth now, nearly all of it, and somehow he felt a little better without the festering pit of lies living inside him. 

But when Belle hesitated, he started to worry just a little.  Finally, he felt her take a deep breath, tighten her grip on him ever so slightly, and say:

“Why not tell someone else what Zelena did to you, if you didn’t want me to know?  Archie, or Charming, or someone? If they knew, no one would have blamed you for wanting to stop her.”

The bitter snort tore out of him with enough force to hurt.  “What, because they see me as human?” Rumplestiltskin countered.  “They don’t, Belle.  They never have.”

“They’re good people, Rumple.”

“I know.”  He pulled back with those words, needing to be able to look Belle in the eye while he tried to make her understand.  “That has nothing to do with it.  As far as they’re concerned, I’m some monster to be controlled.  A power source.  Not someone with feelings or…or anything.”

She frowned.  “Even if what you say is true, they still would have known it was wrong.”

“Yes, like abusing an animal is wrong,” he retorted.  “They didn’t care that she killed Bae, and yet if it had been Henry, they would have _cheered_ Regina on when she fileted Zelena.  Instead, they smiled and agreed when she thought she was keeping the dagger, when she told me that she thought _I couldn’t be trusted_ with it.  With my own freedom.”  Rumplestiltskin was shaking again, and this time it was as much from rage as from anything else.  “She could have made a deal with me.  She could have bought Zelena’s life that way, but it was easier to control the beast.  And then she gave it to you because they wanted _you_ to do their dirty work for them.  Because maybe I wouldn’t hate being enslaved it if was by someone I loved.”

“Rumple, I wouldn’t—I didn’t _want_ it,” Belle whispered brokenly, and Rumplestiltskin realized too late that he’d hurt her with his fury. 

Quickly, he reached up to touch her cheek with his left hand, clasping both of her hands in his right.  “I know,” he replied.  “I don’t think it ever occurred to them that you would give me the dagger back.  Even now, I doubt Emma thinks you would have.”

“Why not?” she asked, and he could see genuine confusion in her face.

“Because I’m the Dark One,” Rumplestiltskin explained.  “They call me family when they want me on their side, but now that I can be controlled, why bother with the lip service?  If one of them had gotten the dagger after Cora’s death, I’m sure this cycle would have started just that much sooner.”  He shuddered, but plunged onwards.  “It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve helped them.  To them, I’ll always be the monster.  To them, I’ll never be human, no matter what I look like.  You really are the only one who sees me as anything else.  And…and it makes it so much harder to be better when they all will hate me no matter what I do.”

“I think you can prove them wrong,” Belle argued gently, squeezing his hands. “If you want to.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, knowing that Belle didn’t quite believe him, didn’t quite see Storybrooke’s precious ‘heroes’ the way he did, but at least grateful that she wasn’t telling him he was a fool.  “I don’t know if I want to.  The one time I tried to play hero, it just got Bae killed.”

“I know.”  She kissed him on the forehead again.  “But you’re not going to lose me, Rumplestiltskin.  I promised you forever, remember?”

Finally, that made him smile a tiny smile.  “I remember.”

“Well, then.  You’re stuck with me.”

“I love you.”  What else could he say to that, other than apologize a thousand times and at least try to be honest with her?  Rumplestiltskin didn’t think he’d ever be cut out to be a hero, but at least he could stop lying to the woman he loved.  He didn’t deserve her forgiveness, not yet, but he could at least try to earn it.

“And you know I love you,” Belle replied, and her smile really could light his world up.

 

* * *

 

The demon escaped when the Queens of Darkness were in the midst of a short-lived but animated discussion with both sheriffs.  Being an elemental demon of darkness, it immediately sought out the most delicious food available: the lightest and best person it could find.  After all, elemental demons always fed on their opposite, which was in this case, light magic and/or a good soul.   Free for the first time in two centuries in a world that it did not know, the demon had no way to know which way the best meal was, but it was able to sense food when it got close enough.  As it so happened, the demon passed over Main Street just as Regina and Henry were stepping out of Granny’s Diner, having eaten dinner there at Henry’s request.

Regina was not the ideal meal, but to the demon, young Henry Mills was the _best_ kind of food.  The Heart of the Truest Believer still beat in his chest, and when his mother tried to get in the way, well, that was just too bad for her.  Fortunately for Regina, the demon had no idea that it was trying to consume a sorceress’ adopted son, which meant that she hit almost as hard as she was hit.

* * *

 

They talked for hours.  Not about books or about outside events, but about themselves and each other, reaching into the depths of their souls to find honesty even when it hurt.  Rumplestiltskin told Belle, hesitantly and a little brokenly, about his time in the Vault of the Dark One, about meeting his predecessors and living in the hellhole that he would be banished to whenever he died again.  Belle spoke of her guilt over letting Anna fall when she hesitated to save her, and finally talked about her mother’s death and how it had changed her forever.  That made him open up, just a little, about his childhood and how his own father had abandoned him for power.  They approached Rumplestiltskin’s abandonment issues slowly and obliquely: he told her about Milah leaving, and then Cora leaving, and then Belle whispered apologies for leaving him in Zelena’s cage when they’d come to him for information.

But she had been the only one to offer him a word of kindness there, and even while deep in his madness, Rumplestiltskin had known that it killed Belle to leave him in that cage.  There were things he had been angry with her for before, but never that, although it took a bit of convincing to make her let go of her guilt on that front.  Their conversation took a bit of a right turn after that, and they started laughing about their times in the Dark Castle, giggling about the time Belle burned the kitchen down or the time that she tried feeding (very bad) cookies to the biting stairs.

“Those stairs _did_ like the cookies more than I ever did, my dear,” Rumplestiltskin conceded with a chuckle, so glad that they could still share good times together as well as emotional ones.  “Though I do think that was the last time I ever let you try to cook.”

She looked offended, or would have, if not for her giggling.  “I managed well enough.”

“Sure, after I introduced you to microwaves,” he shot back, and Belle pouted dramatically.

“Not all of us were given gourmet cooking skills by the curse,” she sniffed.  “But I bet that _I_ can outplay you at pool.”

Rumplestiltskin laughed hard enough at that to make his sides hurt.  “I bet you can,” he allowed.  “Gold never was big on social events.”

“Imagine that.  Something you and Gold have in common,” his wife teased him, and Rumplestiltskin poked her in the side with a mock scowl.  Unfortunately, that gave her the idea to tickle him, and soon enough, smaller hands found his ribcage, fingers wiggling mercilessly.

Flailing helplessly, twisting and giggling, Rumplestiltskin tried in vain to escape her tickling.  He was _so_ much more ticklish than she was, and it so wasn’t fair when Belle took advantage of that fact.  She was quicker than him, too, and always managed to avoid his hands when he tried to trap her wrists, grinning wickedly.

“I yield, I yield!” he finally gasped, giving up and flopping back on the couch.  Beside him, Belle grinned triumphantly. 

“Remind me not to tell the Charmings that they’ve been wrong about you all along,” she teased him.  “All it takes to defeat the Great Dark One is a little bit of tickling.”

In response, he grabbed her around the midsection and pulled her in close.  “Only if it’s you.”

“I’m quite all right with that.”  Belle nestled into his chest and they both shifted until they found a more comfortable position, with her tucked in between his legs and their bodies so close that they could hear one another’s hearts beating.  When Rumplestiltskin thought about where they had been less than twelve hours ago, he still couldn’t believe that they were now laughing and cuddling and trying to find a new way to connect with one another.  Somehow, despite his horrible mistakes—and hers, too—they were finding a path forward together, and that thought was almost enough to brighten even his damaged black heart.

He could even joke with her again, joke with her in a way that they hadn’t done since before his resurrection and losing Bae.  Somehow, they’d hurt one another badly enough that they could finally begin to heal.

“Can I ask you one more thing before I demand that my husband takes me upstairs and demonstrates how very much he loves me?” Belle asked after a few moments, and Rumplestiltskin smiled at that thought.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

He could feel her tense a bit.  “Even if it’s another unpleasant subject?”

“Even if,” he replied, taking a deep breath.  Hopefully, she wasn’t going to ask how he could bear to make love to her with the way Zelena had raped him.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t know how to explain that those crippling and shameful memories had no bearing on his relationship with his wife.  On the contrary, Belle’s touch, her genuine and almost innocent desire for him, had been the only balm that could soothe those wounds for a very long time.  He could only pray that would not change now that she knew.

“Hook,” Belle said quietly.  “What are you going to do about him?”

Well.  In comparison to thinking about Zelena, even Hook was a pleasant topic, although not terribly so.  Rumplestiltskin forced himself to pause, forced himself not to fob the question off with a response of _don’t you worry about that, darling_ , and told himself, yet again, that he had to be honest with her.

 _Here’s where we find out if she really can live with the monster, I suppose_ , he thought nervously, listening to his curse as it started to rage for vengeance.  His inner demon was always quieter in Belle’s presence, cowed a little by True Love, but now it sprang back to life with a deafening chorus of furious demands.  Truth be told, Rumplestiltskin rather agreed with it.  Just that afternoon, he had been on his knees in front of the damned pirate, pleading for his wife’s life and watching the other man smile in anticipation of Belle’s death.  Even if he could forgive Hook for controlling him, for having forbidden him from talking to Belle—which had _not_ been her idea, much to his surprise—he knew that he would never be able to forgive that.

“Rumple?” she prompted him, and he realized that Belle must have felt the rage rolling through him as the silence between them stretched on.

“He commanded me to kill you, Belle,” Rumplestiltskin whispered harshly, every word shaking with fury.  “And then he would have let you _die_ if Emma hadn’t shown up.”

“I know,” she replied, her voice very quiet.  “I’m not sure I can ever forgive that, either.  I trusted him, and…” 

“I can’t let that stand,” he said, but the words came out more of a plea.  Once, Rumplestiltskin would never have believed that he’d be looking for his wife’s permission to kill that noxious pirate, but even killing Hook wasn’t worth losing Belle.  Besides, by now she knew his tricks, and trying to trick her and manipulate words had gotten him into this mess.  He’d nearly lost Belle to death that morning.  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t going to let _anything_ tear them apart, even if he had to let the damn pirate live.

Not that he wanted to.  In fact, he _burned_ to kill Hook like he hadn’t burned to kill anyone for years.  Before, crushing Hook’s heart had just been a necessary pleasure.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t been particularly eager to kill him before Ingrid had said that he would need the pirate’s heart to free himself, but then it had seemed like a nice way to tie up loose ends.  Particularly after Hook had proven so eager to ruin Rumplestiltskin’s marriage, all the while pretending that he was _so_ much better.  Hypocrisy had always annoyed Rumplestiltskin, so he gladly jumped on the opportunity to rid himself of such a pest and free himself at the same time.  At least he hadn’t needed the heart of someone he actually _respected._   Trying to send Emma into the hat had caused even him some moral qualms, which was why he’d been so honest with the Savior when she’d asked him questions.  Most of Rumplestiltskin had even been glad when his grandson’s mother—the woman his own boy had loved so much—had decided against sacrificing her magic (and herself), and he’d certainly not wanted to harm her in any other way.  Hook, on the other hand, had been very convenient.

Perhaps too convenient.  Ingrid might very well have been playing him, although he’d not realized that at the time.  Maybe she’d just wanted Emma’s love out of the way.  But now that didn’t matter.  Now Hook had tried to kill Belle for a _third_ time, and Rumplestiltskin was not going to let that go.  His arms tightened around his wife instinctively, because he was _not_ going to lose her.  Not if he had to kill a hundred pirates.

Or let one in particular live.

“Is there another way?” Belle asked, interrupting his dark thoughts.  “Something other than killing him?”

His growl was audible, as was the soft noise of protest he made when Belle pulled away a little and sat up to look him in the eye.  But the look on her face wasn’t the idealistic one she’d worn when she asked him to promise not to kill Zelena, or the determined one when she demanded he not kill Regina (or the anger he remembered for the loophole he’d exploited that time).  Now she was solemn, and thoughtful.

“I’m not saying that all should be forgiven,” Belle said slowly.  “Because I know what it’s like to watch the one you love die, and I know how you felt then.”  There was a catch in her voice there, and Rumplestiltskin reached out to take her hands, glad when she held on tightly and didn’t pull away.  “I just know that if you kill him, that will start a feud with Emma and the rest of the Charmings that will forever separate you from your grandson, and I don’t want that to happen.  It was bad enough when I sent you away.”

Listening to those words made Rumplestiltskin blink.  Belle wasn’t arguing the right versus wrong of killing the pirate; she was just talking about the consequences of doing so, and a usual, she was worried for him.  Moments like this, he rebelled against knowing that a heart really could not burst with emotion.  Logic had nothing to do with it: Rumplestiltskin was damn well certain that his was about to spontaneously combust from sheer love for this woman.

“We’re moving past that, sweetheart,” he reminded her as gently as he could, finding his curse so much quieter, as always, in the face of Belle’s love.  “No more blame, right?”

“I know.  It’s just hard,” she admitted, and Rumplestiltskin squeezed her hands.  But being Belle, she squared her shoulders and continued: “I just wonder if there is another way.”

The thought of _not_ killing Hook was enough to get his curse raging again; so much for the idea of Belle’s love quieting it for long.  But Rumplestiltskin forced himself to take another deep breath.  “Do you have any ideas?”

He needed to listen to her.  After all, Hook had wanted _Belle_ dead.  Rumplestiltskin was not just seeking vengeance for himself: this was also on behalf of his wife.  So she deserved a say in what happened.

“Where does this feud of yours end?” Belle asked instead of answering directly, and Rumplestiltskin shrugged.

“I didn’t much care about it until he started it again,” he admitted.  “We agreed on the way to Neverland that we were done with it.”

“Can you do that again?”

“He tried to have you _killed_ , Belle,” Rumplestiltskin objected immediately.  “How am I supposed to forgive that?”

She bit her lip, and he felt her hands tighten in his.  “You’re not.  But if killing him comes at an unacceptable price—losing your grandson and sparking a war with the rest of the town—isn’t there another way to get revenge?”

“You’re talking about taking the moral high ground and ending it.”  Rumplestiltskin had never been anything but smart, after all, and he knew where Belle was going with this.  Little though he liked it.

“If you can’t kill him, you can beat him at his own game,” Belle suggested, and Rumplestiltskin finally put the pieces together, and a short bark of laughter emerged as he started thinking like her.

"Because Emma already knows what he tried to do,” he realized.  “So he can’t pretend to be the reformed pirate anymore, can he?”  Another laugh.  “Oh, that is quite diabolical, sweetheart.  A perfect form of revenge.”

Much to his surprise, Belle smiled.  “I’m not against vengeance, Rumple,” she said softly. “Not in this case.  But I’d rather let him live with the consequences of what he did instead of giving him an easy way out.  Now Hook can find out what it’s like to make mistakes and have to pay for them.”

His go-to revenge as the Dark One had always been to kill someone, but Belle really did have a point that even his curse was happy with.  No, he didn’t get to feed it with bloodshed and pain, but this would make the pirate suffer, too.  And Rumplestiltskin would have been lying if he tried to pretend that he wasn’t going to enjoy that.  He’d made plenty of mistakes of his own, and had spent his last weeks in Storybrooke listening to the pirate gloat about how _he_ was a better man and Rumplestiltskin was nothing but a monster.  Turning the tables on him would be quite nice.

“I love you, you know,” he said, leaning in to kiss the tip of her nose.  “My brilliant Belle.”

Her fingers brushed his face, making Rumplestiltskin shiver.  “Then maybe I can help you find other ways in the future,” she said softly, and he could see the hope shining in her eyes.

“I’ll try not to make you,” he said, although it was the best promise he could manage.  But at least was honest, as were his next words.  “Now, I do believe you said something about demanding I show you how very much I love you…?”

“Catch me if you can, then,” Belle replied, and she was off the couch and running up the stairs before Rumplestiltskin could even process that she was gone.  For a moment, he contemplated using magic to catch her, and then decided that would be cheating, so he chased her instead.

* * *

 

The demon might have overcome Regina’s defenses, but she did manage to teleport Henry a block away from their attacker, throwing him down the street and around the corner across from the library.  The thirteen year old landed hard not far from the exit of the Rabbit Hole, which happened to be where one lost pirate was walking out of.

For the life of him, Killian couldn’t quite figure out how everything had gone wrong.  Now, away from Rumplestiltskin, he couldn’t fathom _why_ he’d wanted so terribly to kill Belle—he’d put that desire firmly behind himself when he’d sworn to be a better man for Emma.  Besides, the librarian was a good and trusting woman, one that he might have even been friends with under other circumstances.  Oh, she’d made the terrible mistake of falling in love with a demon, but Belle had come to her senses.  She’d given Killian the dagger, and if that wasn’t a sign that the heroes of Storybrooke really thought he’d changed, Killian didn’t know what was.  He’d _meant_ to be better, too.  But seeing the Dark One under his control had been an incredibly heady feeling, and although he’d originally intended for his revenge to be subtle (Killian thought that forbidding him from talking to his wife was both fitting and prudent), things had gotten out of hand quickly.

Not that he didn’t wish the worst of all terrible fates on Rumplestiltskin.  The bastard had killed Milah—which Killian would _never_ forget or forgive—and then he’d tried to suck Emma into that damn hat, too.  The Dark One might have had a shred of humanity in him, once, but clearly Baelfire’s death had destroyed that.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t care who he hurt, and as far as Killian was concerned, if there had been a way to destroy the Dark One forever, the town should have taken it.  And he’d meant to find a way when he had the dagger, to find a way to protect everyone.

Instead he’d wound up ordering Belle’s death.  It had seemed so _right_ and logical at the time, but the look on Emma’s face when she’d found out would not leave his mind’s eye.  She was angry.  Had he lost her because of this?  Killian had done his best to be better for her, to earn her love, and he’d _done_ that.  Unlike the Dark One, he’d proved that he could change.  _This must be his fault,_ the pirate decided, striding out the door without having drunk nearly as much as he’d meant to when he walked into the bar.  He had to make this right.  He had to figure out what Rumplestiltskin had done to him.  Maybe he’d cursed the dagger somehow, just like he’d once cursed Killian’s hand.  Because Killian didn’t believe for one moment that the Dark One hadn’t put a curse on his hand before he gave it back to him. This was _his_ fault, because Killian Jones had changed.

He’d find Emma and he’d prove that to her.  In fact—

A young boy’s yelp made his head snap around, and suddenly Killian found himself standing face to face with young Henry Swan.  (Whichever name the boy chose in this world, Killian would always think of him as Emma’s son.)  Henry, however, hardly seemed to see him, spinning around.

“Mom!” Henry cried, bolting towards Main Street.

“Henry, wait!” Killian called, and when the lad didn’t stop, chased after him.  If something had happened to Emma when he wasn’t there to protect her, he would never forgive himself.

Following Henry around the corner to the left, Killian spotted the shadowy form of some sort of demon hovering in the air over a prone body.  For a moment, he thought it might be Emma, but the legs he could see were dressed in a business suit, not jeans, and that meant it had to be Henry’s other mother.  Even as he ran forward, staying on Henry’s heels, Granny came out of the diner with a crossbow in hand and took a shot at the demon. 

It spun, red eyes flashing furiously as the crossbow bolt went right thought its insubstantial form.  The demon didn’t seem to notice as the bolt buried itself in Doc’s Miata, but it did _hiss_ at Granny, sounding like a possessed cat, just a lot bigger and enormously meaner.  _Enormous is the right word, too_ , the pirate thought, grabbing ahold of Henry and skidding to a stop _._   Now that the demon was hovering over Regina, it was easy to see that it was about one and a half times Killian’s own size, although its wispy form reminded him uncomfortably of Pan’s shadow.  There’d always been malice rolling off of that shadow, too, but it had been nothing like this.  This demon seemed to _stink_ of darkness.  Even from twenty feet away, the sheer evil rolling off of it made Killian shiver.  That presence was strangely familiar, too, and not just from his lengthy experiences with Pan’s shadow.

“Let me go!” Henry demanded.  “It doesn’t want Mom, it wants me!”

“All the more reason for you to stay away from it, lad.”  There was no way he was letting Emma’s boy anywhere near that demon, no matter how hard Henry fought his one-handed grip on his shoulder.  Killian managed to get his hook in the back of Henry’s jacket, giving himself a two-handed purchase on the boy, and that seemed good enough to hold him for now.

Fortunately, the demon seemed more interested in scanning the growing crowd, its red eyes glowing and sparking as it evaluated the thirty or so people that had gathered.  It did focus on Henry for a long moment, and Killian tensed, bracing himself to jump in front of the lad.  But the demon turned away, hissing even louder, as Emma and David rushed up to join the crowd.  After a moment of glaring at Emma, the demon growled a deep and grating noise that set Killian’s teeth chattering, and then shot upwards.  It vanished into the night sky within seconds, leaving the crowd to stare at Regina’s unconscious form.

Letting go of Henry, Killian let the boy rush forward to join Emma and David, both of whom were kneeling by Regina already.  He heard someone say something about calling an ambulance, but Killian stayed on the edge of the crowd.  Emma hadn’t even looked his way, not even when he’d been busy keeping her son safe, and he could tell when he wasn’t wanted.  She’d said she wanted space today, and he’d try to respect that.  He’d talk to her tomorrow.

* * *

 

They’d fallen asleep wrapped together tightly, so when Rumplestiltskin started twitching, Belle woke up fairly quickly.  But not too quickly.  She’d been lost inside a warm cocoon of safety and love, and a few moments passed as her mind worked its way out of the fuzzy corridors of sleep.  But then she jerked awake as her husband started to whimper, unintelligible words tumbling out of whatever nightmare he was having.  Reaching out, Belle shook Rumplestiltskin’s shoulder gently.  She had awoken him from surprisingly few nightmares after their marriage—particularly given what she knew now—but she did know from experience that Rumple never woke violently.  Just like now, he always snapped awake quickly and quietly, drawing protectively into himself.

“Rumple?” she whispered, shifting her hand to his cheek.  He flinched slightly when she touched him, but, unperturbed, Belle started stroking his hair.  That always helped calm him and it worked now, too; slowly, his breathing evened out and the tension in his face relaxed.

“Belle,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, almost as if he was surprised to see her.

Then again, wasn’t _she_ still half expecting to wake up and for this all to have been a dream?  Belle had missed Rumplestiltskin so much, but she’d been convinced that her actions at the town line had been the last straw.  Yes, she’d been furious at him for his actions, but she knew that she’d made the wrong choice there.  She’d been so afraid that she had destroyed them forever, particularly once she’d given the dagger to Hook.  That double betrayal was roughly equal to the lies and even Rumplestiltskin using her, particularly once Belle realized that he really _didn’t_ love power more than he loved her.  Oh, he needed to let her in, but now he had, and part of Belle had expected the day before to have only been a dream.

Except for the part about almost dying.  _That_ was not a dream, good or bad, although Belle figured that of course it took something like that to bring her and Rumple back together.  Otherwise, they might have danced around one another for years without resolution.  _Particularly when Hook forbade him to talk to me_ , she thought sadly, leaning in to kiss her husband’s sweaty forehead.

“Yeah, it’s me,” she said softly, giving him a smile that tried to mask the emotional mess she still was inside.  That wasn’t to say that Belle didn’t feel worlds better than she had even twenty-four hours earlier.  But the tangled mess of guilt, grief, and betrayal wasn’t something that was going to vanish in a day, no matter how honest they had been with one another.  Still, Belle had known that honesty could help them.  She was just proud of Rumple for finally taking the plunge.  She wished he could have done it earlier, but…well, he had warned her that he was a difficult man to love.  She should have remembered that before she assumed all of their problems were gone just because he had acted normally.

“Sorry to wake you,” he half-muttered, and Belle could see whatever was in his nightmare still filling his eyes with pain.

“It’s all right,” Belle replied, squirming so that she could take his hand with her free one.  “You were having a nightmare.”

Rumplestiltskin winced.  “Happens.”

He sounded utterly unsurprised, but Belle could only recall waking him a handful of times since his resurrection.  Unless….  She frowned at her husband.  “Rumple, do you usually use magic so that you don’t wake me with your nightmares?”

The subtle twitch of his face told her that she was right, and Belle felt her heart sink.  Had Rumple really felt like he needed to hide those things from her?  Their conversations over the last day had proven to her exactly how broken her husband was and how well he usually hid it behind anger and darkness, but this was more than even she expected.

“I didn’t want to burden you,” he finally answered, his voice barely above a whisper.  “You had enough to deal with, marrying someone like me.”

“Rumple…” Those words just broke her heart, but her response obviously made him cringe.

“Honesty, remember?” Rumplestiltskin said with an awkward shrug, and Belle forced herself to nod.  The important thing was that he was telling her now, not hiding away again.  She’d never fully understand why he had felt that he needed to bury his pain, why he’d thought that she wanted him to be some perfect hero, but Belle was willing to bet that there were some things about her that he wouldn’t understand, either.  They’d loved one another deeply before their split, but it was now obvious that they hadn’t talked nearly enough.  She’d thought he was okay, he had thought she wanted him to be okay, and their assumptions had nearly destroyed them.

“I remember,” she replied, taking a deep breath.  “Will you tell me about it?”

Rumplestiltskin swallowed audibly.  “I don’t think you want to know about this one, sweetheart.”

“I still think it will help,” Belle replied as bravely as she could, ignoring the sinking feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.  She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.  “Please?”

A long moment of silence passed as Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head.  She could see him swallowing emotion back, trying to hide behind that mask of self-control.  “It’s not important.”

“If you’re saying that, I know it is,” she said softly, squeezing his hand again and still stroking his hair.  “I know being open like this is hard for you.  And I am so grateful that you’ve trusted me as much as you have.  I know that it has to be hard to let down some of the walls that you’ve had up for so many years.”

“More like centuries.”  His voice was still a rough whisper, and although his eyes were open now, Belle knew he was staring into nothingness, or perhaps still half-caught in the nightmare that continued to make him shake.

“Please tell me?  Whatever it is, I’m not going to think less of you.  I’m not going to walk away.  I just want to help you, if you’ll let me.”

“This shouldn’t be your burden.  I can—”

“Not deal with this by yourself.  We already saw where that leads, and I don’t think either of us wants to go back there again,” Belle cut him off.

Rumplestiltskin cringed.  “No, I don’t.”

“Then let me in.  Let me _help_ ,” she begged him, a part of her wondering if things might have gone differently if they’d managed to have this conversation sometime after he’d been brought back to life.  But she couldn’t change the past; all she could do was stand by him now and remind them both to avoid the mistakes they had already hurt one another so badly with.  After a moment of stubborn silence, Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes once more, and she couldn’t tell if he didn’t want to look at her or was trying to chase his nightmares away.  But before she could ask, Belle felt his hand in hers tremble slightly.  Finally, he answered so softly that she had to lean forwards to hear him, his eyes still squeezed shut and his entire body tense.

“It was you.  Using the dagger.”  He took a ragged breath and continued before Belle could get an apology in.  “Just like Zelena.”

Belle blinked.  “Controlling you?”  Why would he be so hesitant to tell her that? 

“No.”  Rumplestiltskin shuddered again, a weak and violent motion that shook his entire body.  “Like _she_ did—forcing me.  Demanding I… _please_ you—her.  Hurting me.  Because it was fun, and because you had the power to do so.”

“What?  Rumple—I wouldn’t.  I _couldn’t_ ,” she stuttered, feeling revulsion roar to life within her.  Belle felt sick at the thought.  Even in the depths of her fury, even when she’d told herself she should never see Rumplestiltskin again, she _never_ would have done that.  She knew he hadn’t ever wanted to admit that Zelena had raped him, how humiliated and how terrified by that he had been, but now she could see those same emotions on his face because of a nightmare where _Belle_ had done the same.

“I know,” he whispered.  “But when I was gone, I kept thinking that I might come back to that.  That you would hate me, and _use_ me, and—”

Shaking harder, he cut off, and Belle swallowed back her instinctive need to protest.  This a nightmare.  Not what had happened or what Rumplestiltskin thought would happen.  It as what he _feared_ could or would happen.  This wasn’t about logic.  Was it?  It couldn’t be.  Belle had read enough on the human psyche to know that emotions and nightmares were unpredictable things, and she wasn’t the only one who had been in a bad place during the nine weeks they’d been apart.  _Except Rumple’s been a mess a lot longer than that, hasn’t he?_

“You’ve had this nightmare a lot, haven’t you?” she asked, dreading the answer.

Her husband just nodded silently.

“When…when did it start?”  Belle didn’t want to know, but she needed to.

“After you commanded me to take you to the Snow Queen’s cave,” he admitted almost inaudibly.  “I knew it wasn’t the real dagger, but it didn’t matter.  _You_ thought it was, and I…I couldn’t get the image out of my head.  I knew that I should swap the dagger back, but I _couldn’t_ …and I couldn’t make myself tell you the truth, either.”

“But I would have understood.”  That was the crux of what Belle couldn’t wrap her mind around.  Had Rumplestiltskin told her the truth back then, they could have worked things out, yet he’d kept lying.  Belle had never wanted the dagger, so why hadn’t he just told her that he needed it back?  That he was afraid of being hurt, even if it wasn’t logical?

“I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”  Finally, he opened his eyes, and Belle could see tears glistening there that he was trying to hold back.  “You deserved so much better.  Women don’t like to be married to cowards.”

The last sentence came out so automatically that Belle was certain he’d heard it a hundred times, probably flung at him by his first wife and maybe even countless others.  Rumplestiltskin never told her about his life before becoming the Dark One.  In fact, the first time he’d really said anything about it had been earlier that day, and he hadn’t said much then, either.  But those words rang with such certainty that Belle was almost struck speechless.  What _had_ Milah done to him?  Belle knew what had happened to her, thanks to Hook, and Rumple had at least told her how Milah died and that he regretted that moment of blinding and uncontrollable fury, but this was something else.  These scars were ones that he’d never let Belle see before, and he probably didn’t mean to let her see them now.

“Who told you that?” she demanded after a moment.  “Milah?”

Belle couldn’t help it if she said the other woman’s name like it was a curse; Hook might have painted his lover as an innocent victim, but Belle was starting to realize there was a lot more to that story.  She’d assumed that Rumpelstiltskin’s problems with trust and opening up stemmed from being the Dark One, but what if his issues predated that?  What kind of woman ran off with a pirate, anyway, abandoning her husband and her child?  _Not the kind who left Rumple with any self-esteem,_ Belle realized even as Rumplestiltskin answered:

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Then why do you say that?”

“Because it’s true, isn’t it?”  Brown eyes met hers, wide and lost and scared.  _I’m afraid,_ he had told her at the town line.  Had Rumplestiltskin ever admitted that to her before?  Belle knew he hadn’t, or at least not so openly.  He didn’t like to admit to fear, preferring to hide _any_ fears behind that mask of the monster.  Was _this_ why?

“No.  I love you,” Belle whispered.  “And I don’t think that admitting you have problems is a weakness.  I think it has taken enormous strength to tell me what you have.  Not cowardice.”

“I’ve always been a coward,” he said, and there was that helpless note in his voice, the one she so rarely heard but knew was one hundred percent honest.  “I’ve been one all my life.”

“I think you’re wrong, Rumplestiltskin,” she replied, the words tumbling out before Belle had much of a chance to consider them.  “You’ve made cowardly _choices_ , but that doesn’t have to make you a coward.  I was wrong when I called you that.  I’ve seen you sacrifice yourself to save those you loved.  I’ve seen you swallow your fear and help others when you didn’t have to.  You don’t have to be a hero to not be a coward, you know.  You just need to be you.”

For some reason, those words made him swallow.  “I’ve never been much.  When you get beneath the magic, I’m not…not worth much at all.”

“I think you’re worth the world,” Belle replied, burning to strangle a woman who had been gone for centuries.  She’d thought that she understood the Rumplestiltskin’s emotional issues, thought that they stemmed from his fear of abandonment because of Milah, Cora, and his father.  But clearly Milah had done other damage if this wonderful and brilliant man thought he was worth nothing without the magic.  _It doesn’t just make him feel safe,_ she realized for the first time.  _It makes him feel like he’s_ someone.  “You’re caring, funny, and the smartest man I’ve ever met.  And you can’t tell me that’s because of your magic.”

He was staring at her like she was a little mad for giving him such compliments, but still answered: “I honestly don’t know.  Not anymore.  It’s been so long.”

“Well, I love all of you,” Belle told him firmly.  She couldn’t fix all of his issues today, couldn’t cure them all in the next year, probably.  Every time she scraped the surface of one problem, she found two more, but at least he was letting her see them, now.  That meant a lot to her, and she leaned in to kiss him again, a light and reassuring slow touch of her lips to his.  Rumplestiltskin melted in to her, and Belle almost regretted the fact that she was going to turn the topic back to the nightmare he hadn’t wanted to talk about.  “And I always will, no matter what your nightmares tell you.”

“I know that isn’t you, Belle,” Rumplestiltskin said quickly.  Too quickly.  “I just couldn’t ever shake the…the fear that it would be.  Because you’re the only person I’ve trusted in so long.”

“And then I ignored you telling me that you were afraid and pushed you away,” she finished for him sadly.  “I only made it worse, didn’t I?”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “I’m not sure it could get worse, sweetheart,” he whispered.

“Well, I guess that’s a good thing?” she said, and cringed immediately.  But the idiotic remark did actually make her husband smile, just a little, even if his expression was still strained.

“Better than the alternative, anyway,” he agreed, his voice still rough with emotion.  “Please don’t think I _believe_ that you’ll do that.  I don’t.  I really don’t.”

“But you can’t control what you fear.  That’s being human, Rumple.  I understand.”  Belle made herself smile.  “I fear all kinds of things that don’t make sense.”

“You?”

“Of course I do.”

Rumplestiltskin gave her a look that said he was pretty sure Belle was making this up on the spot.  “Like what?”

“It’s going to sound silly compared to the things that have happened to you,” she said awkwardly, feeling herself color.

Now it was his turn to squeeze her hand, and Belle briefly reflected that making that deal for honesty was both the most brilliant and the most terrifying move she had ever made.  “Tell me anyway?”

“I…” Belle bit her lip, and then forced herself to continue.  She couldn’t expect Rumple to dredge up his inner demons if she couldn’t do the same, even if hers were not as terrifying as his.  “I always used to fear that Papa would take away my books after my mother died and force me into becoming some proper young lady.  And here in Storybrooke, I always worry that he’ll try to make me stop running the library and settle in as someone’s perfects little broodmare,” she admitted quietly.  “Particularly when you were gone and he was so happy about it.  I think I caught him taking _bids_ for my hand in marriage last month.”

“What?  Why in the world would he want you to do that?” Rumplestiltskin asked, and Belle absolutely loved him for the confusion in his voice.

“Because women aren’t supposed to be smarter than the men their fathers want them to marry,” she told him grimly, and watched her husband snort.  Fortunately, the one thing she’d _always_ known he treasured about her was her intelligence, even in the beginning when she’d been so foolishly bold.  Looking at his expression made her smile.  “Good thing I married someone who can keep up, then.”

“Oh, Belle.  You run circles around me, sometimes.”

She gave him a smile, and it felt real.  “Not often enough.”

“Is your father still bothering you?” That question was rather predictable, coming from her overprotective husband, but at least there was an easy answer.

“I suspect that he will rather _miraculously_ fall silent on the matter once he realizes you and I are back together,” she replied, feeling a little smug. 

And Belle _was_ satisfied.  Working through their problems—or some of them, anyway—felt like a victory.  They still had a long way to go, but their middle of the night conversation told Belle that they were both willing to try.  She had only once doubted Rumplestiltskin’s love for her, and Belle now understood that was only a result of the betrayal she’d been feeling at the time.  That screaming heartache still hadn’t completely vanished, and nor had the fear that someday Rumplestiltskin would revert to lies in order to protect himself from being hurt, but they _were_ getting better.  _True Love must be fought for,_ she remembered.  _And when you find someone worth fighting for, you don’t give up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that it’s taken me so long to update! We just moved, and getting our stuff (and my computer!) took a lot longer than it was supposed to. Up next: Regina lies in a coma, Hook tries to make things right with Emma (and face down the demon), and Rumplestiltskin and Belle talk about the future, when (of course!) visitors arrive to interrupt them. 
> 
> In the meantime, if anyone is interested in nominating this story (or any of my others) for the Espenson Awards on tumblr, I would be greatly flattered. I have a few nominations already, but you need five to make it into the final group.


	5. V

Emma took Henry back to the hospital first thing in the morning, only to find that nothing had changed.  Whatever that thing was, it had put Regina in a coma.  Whale said that he couldn’t find anything wrong with her except for a few nasty bruises and a broken rib, but the Evil Queen still wasn’t awake despite that.  Henry had been hopeful that she’d wake up by morning, but the call from the hospital had never come, so Emma, Snow, and David had brought the teen to the hospital once visiting hours opened.

If it wasn’t one thing, it was another.  Emma and her parents often joked that Storybrooke rushed straight from one disaster to the next, but this really was getting ridiculous.  The last two weeks had been sheer insanity, from Maleficent storming out of the basement in dragon form to Rumplestiltskin returning.  Then there had suddenly been two _other_ villains on the scene, one of which Archie kept worrying (probably with cause) would steal Pongo away and the other who had a shady history with Killian.  And then…Killian.  Emma still wasn’t sure what to make of that, or even how to think of what had happened.  She still hadn’t talked to him, either, and wasn’t sure she wanted to.  Not now.  Sooner or later, she would have to face him, but right now Killian’s actions still made Emma feel sick.  She understood the need for revenge, even if she tried not to indulge in such things herself.  But using _Belle,_ the woman who had saved Killian’s own life and destroyed her own marriage in the process of doing so, was just beyond the pale.

“Can you heal her, Mom?” Henry asked quietly from her right, jarring Emma out of her private thoughts.  She’d told her parents about what Hook had done yesterday but hadn’t told Henry yet; after Regina had been hurt, they’d all been focused on that, and avoiding the topic was easy.  Besides, Emma didn’t know when she was going to tell her son about that mess.  Henry’s full attention was still rightfully focused on his unconscious adopted mother.

“I don’t know, kid,” she answered honestly.  “I think healing is something that you have to actually be trained to do.  I mean, I’ve accepted my magic and all, but I don’t want to screw this up and make her worse.”

“I bet you can do it,” her son replied, but Emma could see the doubt in his eyes, too.  Henry wasn’t ten anymore, and he was smart enough to know that some things about magic couldn’t be done by instinct alone.  “Or maybe you can just wake her up?”

Now _that_ sounded a lot more reasonable, a lot more like focusing her emotions on achieving a result like Emma knew how to do.  Figuring out what was wrong with Regina and knowing how to fix it might be a bridge too far, but not this.  Emma nodded.  “I can try that.”

“Great!”

“You can do it, Emma,” her mother said from the chair at Regina’s bedside, rising and giving Emma space to step up next to Regina’s head.  Sometimes, Snow White’s optimism was infuriating, but at times like this, Emma really was grateful for her mother’s support.

“Here goes nothing,” Emma breathed, raising her hands over Regina’s head and focusing.  Carefully, she called up the way she felt when she needed to protect those she loved, particularly Henry.  Henry was the one thing that had always linked Emma and Regina together, and thinking of him would help her wake Regina now.  She’d never done anything like this, but slowly her hands started to glow white, and then Regina’s features started to glow, too, just a little.

Taking a slow breath, Emma dug a little deeper into her magic, feeling it answer her call and sweep into the comatose woman.  Letting out the breath, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to _will_ Regina awake, and her magic responded.  One second passed, and then two, and Emma could feel how her magic was wrapping around the Evil Queen, cushioning her and calling her towards consciousness.  But nothing was happening.  Even though she could _feel_ her magic working, even when she peeked an eye open to glance at the older woman’s still face, nothing happened.  Emma tried harder, tried pushing more magic into Regina, but Regina still didn’t twitch.  It was like her magic had nothing to work with, no consciousness to bring forward.  There was a sense of utter _emptiness_ where Regina’s mind should be, and Emma had to withdraw her own magic before she was sucked in to the black hole.

Somewhere, very distantly, her magic picked up a sound almost like a purr.  It was too far away for Emma to physically _hear_ , but her magic detected it even as the glow in her hands died.  But she barely noticed that.  It just didn’t seem important.  She was too busy staring dejectedly at Regina, wondering what she had done wrong and wishing that Elsa or _someone_ else that understood magic was there to help her figure this out.

“It’s not working,” she admitted reluctantly.  “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Henry looked devastated, although Emma could tell he was trying to hide it.  Snow, however, reached out and squeezed her shoulder.  “It’s all right, Emma.  Maybe Regina just isn’t ready to wake up yet.”

“I don’t know,” she repeated, glancing at the too-still woman on the bed.  At least Regina was still breathing, even if she was incredibly pale.  “It almost feels like there’s something weighing her down.”

“I bet it was something the demon did,” Henry said angrily, his eyes still on Regina.  “She said was after me and sent me away, but if she _hadn’t_ , she would be okay.  Why would some demon be after me?”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t know enough about demons to answer that one.”  Emma hated not knowing things, and hated being helpless, but these kinds of magical problems were usually the things they went to Regina to solve.  _Or…_ There actually _was_ someone else who knew magic around town, wasn’t there?  The thought hit her just as David stuck his head in Regina’s private hospital room.

“Emma, Hook’s here and wants to talk to you.  He says it’s important,” her father said, looking unhappy.  Both of her parents had been so supportive of her relationship with Killian, but now they were both almost as angry as she was with his recent about face.

“I really don’t have time for this right now,” she groaned, and David flashed her a smile.

“I’ll tell him,” he promised.

Emma managed a wan smile.  “Thanks.”

Emma didn’t like avoiding problems, but Killian would just have to accept that there was a lot more at stake right now than the way he’d broken her trust.  On a personal level, yes, Emma was still devastated—she’d _trusted_ him to be better, and he’d tried to murder an innocent woman—but she was the Savior, and that always wound up taking precedence over her personal life.  Killian would have to wait until they got this demon, or whatever it was, under control.

* * *

 

Of course Prince Charming came back.  Killian had abided by Emma’s wishes and not chased after her the previous night, even when he’d wanted to help her face down the demon that had felled Regina.  But now she apparently didn’t want to see him at all.  Otherwise, why send her father in her place?  That thought made his heart clench painfully; how had everything fallen apart so quickly? 

“Emma’s busy,” David said, meeting Killian in the hallway.  At least the man was blunt; Killian could be grateful for that.  “Regina’s still unconscious.”

“That demon must have done a number on her, then,” the pirate replied, trying to tell himself that Emma really _was_ busy, and that she’d talk to him when she wasn’t in the middle of dealing with one disaster or another.  Wouldn’t she?

“That appears to be the case, yeah,” Storybrooke’s other sheriff confirmed, eyeing Killian unhappily.

He didn’t want to do things this way.  Killian really wanted to talk to Emma, to drop to his knees in front of her if he had to, to make her see that he really hadn’t meant any of this and he was still the good man she thought him to be.  But apparently anything he had to say to her needed to go through David, because Killian was not so good at fooling himself that he imagined Emma wasn’t still angry.  So, he grabbed the prince’s arm even when he started to turn away.

“Wait, please.”

“I’m not getting in the middle of this, Hook.  You tried to murder someone yesterday, and you would have if Emma hadn’t stopped you,” David replied, looking him straight in the eye.  “That’s not something that’s so easy to forgive.”

“I don’t expect you to fix this for me,” Killian replied stiffly, letting go of David’s arm and swallowing hard.  “Just…please tell Emma that everything got out of control.  I didn’t mean to make the Dark One actually kill Belle.  I just wanted him to know how it felt.  I would never... Oh, just please tell her that I need to talk to her.  When is her choice.  But I’ll be here.”

He wouldn’t have put his heart on his line for any other woman, not after the life he’d led, but Emma Swan was worth it.  If that meant opening up like this in front of her father, than that was what Killian would do.  He _loved_ her, and he wanted to make this right.  Emma was worth doing anything and everything.

“I’ll tell her,” was the only answer he got, and Killian couldn’t tell if David thought more or less of him after what he’d said.

The prince disappeared back into Regina’s hospital room as Killian sighed, stuffing his hand into his pocket and shrugging to himself.  He could stand out here all day and wait for Emma to emerge, or he could go try to do something useful.  The latter was more likely to impress her—and prove to her that he _had_ really changed—so Killian headed out of the hospital.  Slowly, he walked out onto the street and decided to head back towards town, only to have motion catch his attention out of the corner of his eye. 

He twisted, and there it was: the red-eyed demon that had attacked Regina.  Somehow, he knew it was here for Emma.

* * *

 

“Hand me the eggs, will you, sweetheart?” Rumplestiltskin asked, and Belle grabbed the egg carton off the counter to do just that. 

She would have been the first to admit that she hadn’t kept a lot of food in the house while Rumple was gone; she just wasn’t a very good cook, and every time Rumple had _tried_ to teach her to cook in Storybrooke, some crisis or another had come up to derail the process.  So, Belle was proficient with the microwave and could make herself simple things like pasta or rice, but anything beyond that—particularly anything involving the stove or the oven that was more complicated than boiling water—usually ended in disaster.  She could read recipe books well enough, of course, and was fine at following instructions, but somehow she always wound up getting distracted at a crucial moment and forgetting something important.  Or letting something start to burn.  While she and Rumplestiltskin had been living together, that hadn’t been a problem at all.  Her husband actually _liked_ to cook, although most people in the town probably never would have believed that about him.  And while Rumplestiltskin’s cooking was far from the only thing that Belle had missed about him, mornings like this were somewhere near the top of the list.

“Fried or scrambled?” he asked next, and Belle quirked a smile.  Part of her was hardly able to believe that they were here, he was _home_ , and here they were, cooking breakfast like any other morning before everything had gone wrong.  But she’d pinched herself a least a hundred times, and this was real.  Real and rocky, and requiring a lot of work.

_But worth it._

“What, you’re not offering to poach them or do anything fancy?” she teased her husband, moving in to kiss the back of his shoulder.  He shivered, and Belle came up on her tiptoes to kiss the back of his neck, loving it when he hadn’t yet put a tie on and she could get at skin.

“Your distinctive lack of groceries prevents me from making anything that interesting,” Rumplestiltskin replied dryly, but Belle saw him smile back.

“You’re the one who told me to stop trying to cook,” she pointed out reasonably, but couldn’t keep the giggle out of her voice. 

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m back then, isn’t it?” her husband replied softly, and Belle saw the slight hesitation before he wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her close.  They were still finding one another, yet again, but somehow Belle felt closer to him than ever before now that they were talking openly.

“Fried over easy would be wonderful,” she finally answered his second question.  “I can make toast if you want.”

“Toast would be lovely.”

But he hadn’t let go of her yet, and Belle was in no hurry to go anywhere.  They’d both slept better after that terrible nightmare had woken her husband, but she sensed that Rumplestiltskin was still a little uneasy.  His smiles were just a tad slow off the mark, and she had the feeling that he wasn’t as all right as he pretended to be.  Truth be told, neither was she.

“I love you, Rumple,” she said softly, leaning into his shoulder.  “I know we have a long way to go before we can put everything behind us, but I think we can do it.”

Finishing cracking an egg, Rumplestiltskin dropped a kiss on top of her head and Belle felt herself relax just a little more as his arm tightened around her.  “I do, too,” he replied just as quietly.  “Particularly if you remind me to keep being honest.  It’s…hard.”

“I know,” Belle admitted, knowing that she’d have to remind herself of that from time to time, too.  It was so easy to forget that her husband had three centuries of fears and pains behind him, that he had demons in his past that she knew nothing about.  Rumplestiltskin could talk for days and still not scratch the surface of his history.  Just within the last eighteen hours or so, Belle had learned a half-dozen crucially important things, and she was willing to bet there were at least that many more lurking within her husband’s scared psyche.

Their conversation turned back to easier topics as Rumplestiltskin finished cooking and Belle made toast.  Much to her chagrin, she found that there was no butter in the house, but she did manage to dig up some jam that didn’t seem too old to eat, which Rumplestiltskin pronounced safe for human consumption.  Briefly, Belle thought back to her time in the Dark Castle when his magic had done the cooking, but even with the current lack of ingredients, she preferred honestly cooked meals.  They tasted better, and there was something wonderfully personal about being in the kitchen together and making a meal. 

Sometime after they sat down, however, they decided to face reality.

“So, now what?” Belle asked.  “Do we just go back to normal life?  What were you doing with those ‘Queens of Darkness’, anyway?”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled softly.  “Looking for the author, actually.  Rather like Regina is.”

“Why?”  Belle blinked.  She’d expected some grand evil scheme that Rumplestiltskin would still be manipulating to its conclusion, and she’d expected to have problems with that.  This, however, was different.

“As Cruella would say, the ‘game is rigged’,” he answered after a moment.  “And there are times I agree with her.  No matter what good you do, if you’ve been a villain…your story never changes.”

 _We write our own stories,_ Belle thought immediately, having heard what Regina said about the author and never having agreed with it.  _With our choices, and the paths we take._   And yet, she did understand, at least a little, what Rumplestiltskin was referring to.  He’d sacrificed himself to save everyone, made a brave choice that Belle _knew_ had been terrible for him, and in payment he’d been enslaved and watched his son die.  While she was more the type to chalk that up to bad luck than an author with a diabolical motive, she could imagine that Rumple had been grasping for reasons when his heart was broken.  But on the other hand…

“I think what happened between _us_ was our own fault, Rumple,” she said as gently as she could.  “You chose to lie because you couldn’t express your hurt, and I chose to banish you instead because I felt betrayed.  I don’t think that’s any author’s fault.”

“I’m not going to argue with you about the mistakes I’ve made.  I’ve always been a man who makes the wrong choices,” he whispered, and there was such pain in his voice that Belle reached out to take both his hands.  “But if there is some author—and the evidence indicates that there is—I would like to know why that had to happen to Bae.  He deserved better.”  She watched him swallow hard.  “Or why the Sorcerer’s Hat showed up just when I was vowing to be a better man, to stop the lies and be what you deserved.  It was the one thing I couldn’t resist, and it appeared at the worst possible moment.”

 “So, are you looking for answers, or are you looking for someone to fix things for you?” Belle had to know.

“Answers,” Rumplestiltskin said firmly, and she was so very proud of him.  “I know that I have to fix things for myself.”

That was certainly a quest that Belle could get behind.  “And what about the others?  Ursula, Maleficent, and Cruella?”

He shrugged.  “Allies of convenience.  They can have their own reign of terror if that’s what they’re really looking for.”

“Rumple…”  Belle knew she hadn’t married a hero, but sometimes listening to him talk like that really got on her nerves.  “You could help, you know.”

“With what?” he asked, and at least he wasn’t dismissing the notion out of hand.  “You know how these people feel about me, Belle.  I’ll be lucky if some lynch mob doesn’t form to try to force me out of town again.  There certainly wasn’t a welcoming committee to rejoice upon my return.”

Surprisingly, however, Rumplestiltskin’s tone wasn’t as hostile as it was resigned.  He always pretended that he didn’t care about how anyone thought of him, but Belle was starting to realize that was only another layer of his defenses.  He’d been the monster for so long—for _hundreds_ of years in the Enchanted Forest—that he had to not care, didn’t he?  She remembered what he’d said about how the Charmings called him family when he was useful and nonchalantly left him in Zelena’s cage when he was not.  Rumplestiltskin was convinced that none of them saw him as anything other than a monster to be caged or a power source to be used, and Belle found herself unable to disagree with that logic, even though she wanted to.  Not with the way people had reacted to her exiling him.

Not a one of them had told her she should feel guilty.  No one but Belle had seemed to think that throwing Rumplestiltskin out into the world with only the clothes on his back and the cash in his wallet was cruel, and there wasn’t a single person who had mentioned that her actions meant he would never even be able to visit his beloved son’s grave again.  Even Emma didn’t object to the way she had taken Henry’s grandfather away, although Belle had been able to see that Henry had determinedly avoided the topic the few times they’d spoken, obviously trying not to make her feel worse.  No, most of them had been perfectly satisfied with the situation, and Leroy had even snorted and said maybe Rumplestiltskin would die out there and save them all a lot of trouble.  She’d gone home and thrown up again after that comment, but she’d managed to hide her feelings until she was alone.

“You could prove them wrong,” she suggested, but the idea sounded far-fetched, even to her. 

“Easier said than done, sweetheart,” Rumplestiltskin said dryly.  “They’re afraid of me, and my recent actions in regards to filling the hat certainly won’t change that.”

Belle grimaced.  “They’re not going to like that I gave you back the dagger, are they?”

“No.”  The answer was straightforward, but Belle could see the fear that flashed through his eyes and felt the hands held in hers shake slightly.  Yes, Rumplestiltskin never should have tried to suck Emma, and then the fairies, into the hat.   He shouldn’t have tried to kill Hook, either, although Belle could no longer argue against Zelena’s death.  Not now that she knew the truth.  She still didn’t think death was the answer…but maybe Zelena was an exception.  He’d done some terrible things, and Belle wasn’t going to whitewash that.  But he’d been afraid, just like he’d tried to tell her at the town line, and she was too ruthlessly self-honest to think that none of Storybrooke’s heroes had contributed to that fear.  Or that _she_ hadn’t, when she blindly demanded he be better without helping him address his underlying issues, first.

Belle didn’t think for a moment that any of the others would understand, though.  They probably _would_ demand that someone control Rumplestiltskin, and while Belle felt that he should be free to make his own choices—because he wasn’t better if he wasn’t actually trying to be—she knew they wouldn’t agree.  But he’d fight to keep the dagger safe.  Rumplestiltskin would fight for his freedom.  She knew that, too.

“I could say I still have it,” she said quickly, speaking before she could change her mind.  “You could give me the fake back and—”

“No,” Rumplestiltskin cut her off softly, looking amazed as he squeezed her hands.  “I won’t let you do that, sweetheart.  Bad enough that I used you unknowingly.  If you lie to them now, they’ll never trust you again.”

“I just want to protect you,” Belle whispered, not knowing what else to say.  Now that she understood how hurt he was, she just wanted to help ease his fear.  Maybe if he felt less afraid, he really _could_ be better, and not just pretend.  Heroes protected those who needed it.  Maybe it was time she started doing that closer to home.

His sad smile was reward enough.  “Thank you.  That means the world to me, Belle,” he replied.  “But they’ll have to take me as I am, or not at all.  Those heroes can search for the dagger all they like.  None of them are getting through those protections.  I am _not_ going to be controlled again.  Not while I live.”

“What if they try to lock you up somewhere?” she had to ask.

“They can’t hold me,” Rumplestiltskin said simply, raising her left hand to bring it to his lips.  “Let them try.”

Belle really hoped that it didn’t come to that, that they could make peace with the Charmings and the others before any war erupted for control of her husband.  She could see both sides, now, and she knew that the others _were_ afraid, just like Rumplestiltskin had said.  But she also understood him better now, too, and Belle knew that there was a very broken man underneath the monster.  She’d chosen to give him the dagger back, and with that his freedom of choice.  Belle had to trust him to make the right decisions, or at least to try to.  She wouldn’t blindly assume he was better, but she wasn’t going to abandon him, either.  He needed _help_ , not pushing.  Help from someone brave enough to tell him when he was wrong, but also from someone who loved him.

 _He always makes better choices when he has support,_ Belle thought to herself, looking into her husband’s brown eyes and squeezing his hands.  _I will give him the love he needs and demand honesty of him.  I can only hope that he’ll meet me halfway._   At least she finally understood—at least they _both_ finally understood—that Belle couldn’t do this alone.  Rumplestiltskin had to try, but she knew he was going to.  For both of them.

* * *

 

“Get back here, you bloody—”

Diving to the ground, Killian lost the rest of his sentence in an _oof_ of pain; his newfangled modern clothes did not absorb impact with the pavement nearly as well as his old world wardrobe had.  But the demon _had_ indeed done what he wanted it to when he’d been yelling at it to come back in his direction.  Mostly.  The shadowy demon had swung in Killian’s direction, dark magic filing its wispy hands.  Not having magic of his own, the only option was to dodge, but Killian figured that he could at least get close enough to the demon to get it with his sword.  Clearly, a crossbow bolt wasn’t enough to hurt it, but a sword _had_ to be.  Demons could bleed.  He knew that from experience.

Even Pan’s shadow had been something you could pin down with a sword if you caught it just right, and this demon was disturbingly like that shadow, just far more powerful.  Pan’s beastie had been a malevolent thing, but most of its power had been inside Pan himself.  That so-called shadow had been able to cross realms on a whim but not much else, and although fire had been the _best_ way to trap it, that hadn’t been the only way.  Unfortunately, Killian didn’t have Baelfire’s magic coconut on him at the moment, but he _did_ have a trusty sword, and he was going to stop this demon once and for all.  Before it went after Henry again, or worse yet, Emma herself.  So, he jumped to his feet and lunged, thrusting his sword almost right through where the demon’s heart should be.  Killian felt _something_ make contact, felt some sort of friction along his blade, but not nearly enough.

Twisting away and hissing in laughter, the demon arced high into the sky and flicked more dark magic Killian’s way.  It caught the edge of his jacket, burning through the leather like it was nothing and sending pain shooting through his left shoulder, but the pirate ignored that.  Straightening, he readied his sword for the creature to come around at him again, sure that he must have missed the heart and that he wouldn’t do so a second time.

Unfortunately, the demon didn’t really want to cooperate.  It hovered over him, just out of reach, and when Killian advanced a step, it floated backwards, still hissing as if it was amused.  “Fight me, you demon!” he snapped, hoping to goad it into coming in range.  Assuming the thing could hear.

“It won’t do that for _you,_ Captain,” a familiar voice called.  “You’re not nearly tasty enough.”

No sooner had those words been spoken than the demon vanished into the sky again, speeding off to somewhere, obscured by the forest trees near the hospital.  The damn demon was gone, and with it Killian’s chance to prove to Emma that he was a good man.  With nothing else left to do, he spun to glare at Ursula, who was watching him with a smug smile on her face.  The Sea Witch looked rather different in this world—minus the tentacles—but not so much that Killian’s memories of her were in any way impacted.  They’d often been at odds, and Killian had certainly not had any motivation to change that when Ursula had returned to town at Rumplestiltskin’s side.  The two of them were probably _still_ in league together, and Killian would not have put releasing a demon like this past the Dark One.

 _Would he send something after his own grandson?_ the pirate wondered to himself.  But then again, he’d never expected that even the Dark One would go after his own grandson’s _mother_ , and Rumplestiltskin had.  So, now there was no knowing what he would do—but Ursula was the problem at the moment, given the way she was grinning and gliding forward.

“Do you _want_ something?” Killian growled.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed David and Emma rushing out of the hospital together, but Ursula only shrugged.

“I just want to see your face,” she said easily.  “When you realize why the demon doesn’t think you’re worth bothering with.”

It was all he could do not to roll his eyes.  “And I suppose you’re going to tell me why that is.”

“It’s an elemental demon of darkness, Killian.  Of course it isn’t interested in you.”  She tried to lay a hand on his arm, her eyes twinkling in amusement, but he jerked away, resisting the urge to stab his hook into her midsection.

“What, I’m not dark enough?”

Ursula laughed, a low and hearty sound that said she really was amused.  “Oh, no.  Dear, you aren’t nearly _light_ enough to tempt it.  Too much darkness in that heart of yours.”  She patted his chest lightly, and Killian flinched away.  “Elemental demons consume their opposites.  It’s not interested in the likes of you or me, but someone like Miss Swan over there…well, she would almost be as tasty as her son is.  It would inhale her in a heartbeat.”

“It went after Regina,” Emma put in, striding forward with the purposeful and focused look on her face that Killian loved so much.  He’d fallen for a hero, and had tried to live up to her standards.  Ursula had to be mocking him when she told him that he wasn’t good enough for the demon to be interested in, didn’t she?

“I hear she’s reforming.”  Ursula shrugged again.  “But unless I am mistaken, the demon went for your boy.  For the Truest Believer.”

“How do you know about that?” Emma demanded.

“Maleficent was buried under the library.  People talk, and she always listens,” was the easy answer.  “And the demon _was_ hers, after all, before your dear Regina stole it.  We simply took it back.”

“Then you’re going to stop it,” David spoke up, standing at Emma’s side.  “If you let it out, it’s your responsibility.”

Ursula looked at father and daughter like they were mad.  “Of course we’re not.  What do you take us for, heroes?” she laughed again.  “Besides, it should serve to get the author’s attention rather quickly.  This serves our purposes well enough.”

“Can you control it?” David asked pointedly, which Killian felt was a rather good question.  Had the Sea Witch just been toying with him while he tried to slay the demon to save the town?

“Of course not.  It escaped before Maleficent could target it,” Ursula replied as if it didn’t matter.  Then she smiled. “I imagine it will create quite a mess.”

“By eating half the town!” Emma snapped, stepping close to Ursula.  “I’ve gotten six calls this morning over people who are worse off than Regina, comatose shells of their former selves, or drained dry of life and dead.  If _you_ let this out, then you should deal with it.”

“We’re here to win, little Savior.  Not to save the town.  But you’re welcome to let it eat you, if it makes you feel more heroic,” the Sea Witch replied, and before any of them could reply, she vanished in a swirl of seafoam like smoke.

That left Killian standing with the woman he loved and her father, both of whom were angry with him.  But surely they could be united in the face of this new threat?  But Killian had a feeling that he needed to get in before either of the Charmings decided to walk away and leave him out of the solution.

“So, then.  We’re off to save Storybrooke again, eh?” he asked as lightly as he could.

Emma glared.  David looked contemplative.  “You tried to kill the demon?” the prince asked.

“Much good it did me,” Killian replied with a frown, wishing he could prove Ursula wrong.  But the demon _hadn’t_ wanted him.  Still, it hadn’t seemed to want Regina, either, and she was certainly on the right side, now, too.  Perhaps it just wasn’t interested in reformed villains.  Maybe it needed someone who had been pure all along.  “I think we have to find a way to trap it.”

“Or I go after it,” Emma put in, her jaw set stubbornly.

“No!” Killian and David spat the word at the same time, and it was nice to be back on David’s side again.  They exchanged a quick look, but it was Killian who continued:

“You heard Ursula, Emma.  That demon would _consume_ you.  It eats light magic.”

“Well, I’m not going to stand around while it kills more people, so do you have any better ideas?” she demanded.

* * *

 

They were fools to think that they might have twenty-four hours together without being interrupted. 

In hindsight, Belle supposed she should have been surprised that it had taken so long.  But then again, even though she’d helped the heroes time and again, even Emma Swan was not the type to check up on her to see if she was all right.  Snow had called a few times in the last nine weeks, but mainly they left her alone.  Not like Regina, who couldn’t even go off to mourn the loss of her True Love without stepping on two of the three Charmings.  She didn’t even want to think of all the times Rumple had helped them without any of them caring if he was all right, because he _was_ correct on that front.  Belle had ever really thought of it that way until Rumplestiltskin brought it up, but maybe he had a point.  Oh, she didn’t think that the Charmings or the other heroes viewed him as negatively as he thought (or that they hadn’t, before he’d tried to trick Emma into the hat, anyway), but maybe the truth was somewhere in between.

The knocking on the door—or a pounding, more like—came when they were almost done with the breakfast dishes.  Immediately, Belle glanced at her husband, and found he was already looking at her, amused resignation in his expression.  Yes, they’d been rather optimistic to think they might have a reunion and reconciliation without being interrupted.  Since when did they manage to do _anything_ without being interrupted?

“I’ll get it,” Belle sighed, knowing that whoever was there was probably looking for her.  After all, none of them had any idea that Rumple had returned home.

“I’ll finish up here,” Rumplestiltskin replied, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.  It was such a simple gesture, but it still warmed Belle’s heart.  Whatever was coming, they could face it together.  So long as they learned to trust one another, for real this time.

“Hopefully this doesn’t take long,” she grumbled in response, heading for the front door.  The knocking came again before she got there, and Belle fought back the urge to scowl.  Clearly, something was going on, so she should be angry if someone wanted to warn her about trouble. 

However, she had not expected Hook to be there.  Emma and David she might have expected, but seeing the pirate who had tried to kill her— _again_ —was definitely not a way to make Belle’s morning a good one.  So, she stopped in the doorway instead of automatically inviting them in, tense and uncomfortable. 

“What can I do for you?” she asked after a moment of awkward silence, and Emma seemed to notice where Belle’s gaze lingered.

“He’s not here to bother you,” the Savior said quickly.  “He’s just along because we have a problem, and we need your help.”

“My help,” Belle said slowly, wondering where this was going.  She wasn’t sure that any problem Hook was involved in was one she wanted to touch at the moment.  Having accepted his grudging apologies once, Belle felt far less eager to do so a second time, particularly when the pirate in question had been busy gloating as she lay dying.  Belle couldn’t remember all of the conversation between Rumple and Hook after she’d been stabbed, but she had heard enough.

“Can we come in?” David asked, and at least his voice was compassionate.  Given the way he and Emma exchanged a glance, Belle assumed Emma had told her father at least some of what had happened. 

“I’m no danger to you,” Hook piped up, and _that_ made Belle turn her glare on him.  “Honestly, I’m here to help.”

“You said something remarkably like that last time,” she snapped before she could stop herself.

“It was your idea to give me the dagger, love,” he replied, as if Belle needed reminding of her colossal mistake. 

“Don’t call me that.  I’m not your _love_ , and I’m not your friend, _Captain,_ ” Belle snarled, stepping forward angrily, which in turn drove Emma to move hurriedly between them.

“He’ll be on his best behavior.  I’ll make sure of that,” the other woman promised.  “But he has more information about the problem that we do, and we’d rather not do this outside.”

Belle really didn’t want to invite _any_ of them inside, but she couldn’t figure out how to leave them on the porch without being incredibly rude.  For a moment, she contemplated telling Emma that she could leave Hook outside, but in the end, good manners won out.  _Rumple’s not going to like it…but we talked about this, and this might give Rumple a chance to show the Charmings that he isn’t some huge monster.  It’s nice to have them thinking Hook is the bad guy for once, and not automatically assuming it’s all Rumplestiltskin’s fault,_ she told herself, taking a deep breath.

“Of course,” she said slowly, pausing to shoot another mistrustful look at the pirate.  “Please come in.”

Leading them into the parlor off of the front hall and _not_ into the more comfortable living room where she and Rumplestiltskin had talked the evening before, Belle took a seat that let her see through the doorway that led towards the kitchen.  She purposefully left the others to the couch and the chair that had their backs to that entryway.  Tellingly, Emma sat down on the couch next to David instead of near Hook, who looked both resigned and upset with that decision.  None of her three visitors relaxed, and Belle didn’t, either, perching on the edge of her antique chair and refusing to offer them refreshments.  Had Hook not been there, Belle would have; she _liked_ Emma and David, but their insistence on bringing the man who’d wanted her dead into her home didn’t make her feel very friendly at the moment.

“For what it’s worth, Belle, I am sorry,” Hook started to say, but she cut in before he could say any more.

“Just don’t.  I’m not ready to hear that.”  Her back ramrod straight, Belle ignored her would-be murderer and looked at the other two.  “So.  What can I help you with?”

“There’s a demon loose in the town,” David replied, and at least he was being straightforward.  “It put Regina in a coma when it went after Henry and she got in the way.  It’s killed four others so far, and put two more in intensive care.”

“That’s horrible,” Belle breathed, forgetting her anger and already running through the different types of demons in her mind.  There were so many, from the minor types of demons who just wanted to scare people to the major ones that wanted to eat people or possess them.  Belle could name a dozen and a half different kinds of demons off hand, and three of them were capable of leaving people in comas.  “Do you know where it came from?”

“Regina’s vault, apparently.  According to Ursula, however, it belonged to Maleficent first,” David answered.

“Well, if you tell me what it looks like, I can go grab a few books.  From what you’ve said, it’s either a Dagon or a Namtar.  It _could_ also be an Incubus, but that’s less likely, because—”

“It’s an elemental demon of darkness, according to Ursula,” Hook cut in, jerking Belle up short.

Resolutely, she forced herself to ignore _who_ had given her the information and take it at face value.  Still, she couldn’t help the somewhat prim way she replied with: “That’s what an Incubus is.  One of darkness, you say?”

She’d have to read up on that, or ask Rumple.  There was so much about magic to learn, and Belle usually concentrated on what would be useful at any given moment.  She’d researched the more common types of demons on a whim, once, but she’d never looked very hard at the ancient history of magic.  Elemental demons, or incubus, were _definitely_ from back at the dawn of magic, and Belle couldn’t remember having read about anyone encountering them in the last couple of centuries or so.  Still, Belle could remember that there were six different types, one for each element: earth, wind, fire, water, darkness, and light.  Of course the darkness demons were the most dangerous.  _Then again, this is Storybrooke.  We wouldn’t have an elemental demon of_ light _running around hurting people.  That would be too easy._

“Assuming Ursula can be believed, yes,” Hook replied, and Belle really wished one of the other two would do the talking.  Her mistrust of Hook was distracting her; the way her heart pounded a little harder every time he opened his mouth and she had to shove back a-not-entirely-irrational wave of fear only slowed down her thinking process.

Belle forced herself to take a deep breath before replying: “I can go look up a few things.  It might take a little while for me to find anything, though.  Elemental demons are very rare, and they’re very hard to kill.  If I remember correctly, they feed on their opposites.”  She swallowed hard, remembering that this demon had gone after Henry.  “In this case, that would mean—”

“People like Emma and Henry.”  Again, Hook cut her off, and Belle didn’t stop herself from glaring this time.

“I was getting to that,” she snapped.  “Now, if you came here for information, it would speed things along greatly if you didn’t keep interrupting me.”

“Actually, we’re not here for information,” Emma spoke up, making Belle’s head snap around.  Immediately, the blonde shrugged a little guiltily.  “Though we _are_ grateful for confirmation of what Ursula told Killian.   But we’re here for your help.”

“What do you mean, my ‘help’?” she asked slowly, feeling a suspicious tightness forming across her shoulder blades.

“You still have the Dark One’s dagger,” David said, and Belle felt like her heart was going to stop.  Suddenly feeling cold, she waited for David to say it, even though she knew what had to be coming.  “And that’s what we need.  We need you to command Rumplestiltskin to kill this thing.”

Even as David was speaking, motion caught Belle’s eye, and she glanced over to see her husband slipping into sight.  He’d put a tie and jacket on before emerging, and was back to his immaculately-clad self, not looking like someone who had brokenly spilled his soul out to her the night before.  Rumplestiltskin moved silently and calmly, not looking like he wanted to kill anyone, and just stopped to lean on the doorframe behind the other three, his hands folded in front of himself nonchalantly.  He gave her a slight nod, his eyes dark but meeting hers, clearly an indication for Belle to continue the conversation on her own, but she already wasn’t sure that was a good idea.  The callous way David—one of the most caring men she’d ever met—had just told her to command her husband to go against a nearly un-killable demon absolutely floored Belle. _“They call me family when they want me on their side, but now that I can be controlled, why bother with the lip service?”_ Rumplestiltskin had asked her, and suddenly Belle saw the truth of that staring her in the face.  Of course, David _was_ acting to protect the people of Storybrooke…but he never would have treated Regina like this.

“We understand that this is hard for you,” Emma said gently.  “Particularly after what happened yesterday.”  Even in the slight fog of her own growing anger, Belle didn’t miss the short glare the Savior sent Hook’s way before continuing.  “But we need your help.  If you don’t want to talk to him, you can give David or I the dagger, and we’ll do what needs to be done.”

Belle blinked slowly.  “So that you can send him against demon that even _he_ might not be able to kill.”

“Someone has to go after it,” David pointed out, sounding earnest.  “Those so-called ‘Queens of Darkness’ won’t, even though they seem to have lost control of it.  It already took out Regina, and from what we know, it would find Emma about as appetizing as it does Henry, so she can’t.”

The argument was even logical, but it still made Belle feel cold.

“Look at it on the bright side,” Hook spoke up, and just the sound of her voice made Belle want to spit nails.  “Maybe the Dark One and the demon will kill one another, and you’ll finally be free of him.”

“Killian!” Emma snarled, turning a full-fledged glare on her boyfriend.

“What?” the pirate shrugged.  “I don’t mean it callously.  She said she didn’t want to trust herself with the dagger, or with him.  This is probably the perfect solution to that entire problem.”

“My marital problems are _my_ business,” Belle snarled, not even wanting to stop herself.  “And if you open your mouth again, you can leave our house.”

David spoke up again while Emma twisted to throw Hook another look that said he was absolutely in trouble.  Belle wanted to like her for that, but the looming issue of why the Charmings had come still hung over her like a dark cloud, stoking her temper higher and higher.  Glancing at Rumplestiltskin again, she could see no surprise on his face; he’d all but predicted this moment would come, after all.  He was just waiting to see how she handled it, trusting her to tell the Charmings what they needed to know.  For a moment, Belle contemplated just refusing and waiting to see what they would say.  Would they declare her the enemy if she did so?  Or would they just try to take away the dagger they all assumed she had?

“No one’s here to blame you for any choices you’ve made in the past,” the prince said soothingly.  “We just need your help.  If we don’t stop this thing soon, more people are going to die.”

That was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it?  Under other circumstances, it might have even convinced Belle.  She didn’t want anyone to die, after all, not even Hook, who she really did hate at the moment.  And she was certainly willing to help.  But not like this.  Belle took a deep breath, and then looked David straight in the eye.

“I don’t have the dagger,” she said bluntly.

“What?” three voices echoed, but Belle decided that she wouldn’t kick Hook out for that one.  She wanted to see the look on his face when the rest of this went down, anyway.  Was that horrible of her?

“Then who does?” Emma asked, always the first one to the point.  “Just tell us, and we’ll go to them to—”

“To what?” Belle cut her off, remembering what Zelena had done to her husband and how she had ignored how he was treated then, too, all because she wanted everything to go back to normal.  Her voice rose a little more than she wanted it to as she snapped: “Get them to order their slave around?”

Emma flushed a little.  David frowned, and Hook was starting to look concerned.  Rumplestiltskin, however, looked equal parts surprised and pleased, but he shouldn’t have been the former.  Belle had told him that she wanted to protect him, and that was something she realized that she should have been doing all along.  Sometimes, Rumplestiltskin needed protecting from others as much as he needed protecting from himself, and _that_ was what heroes did.  His power didn’t make him invulnerable.  He just wanted people to think that it did because that made him feel safe.

“Belle, we’ve got a big problem here,” David said next, his voice growing stern.  “Please tell us that you didn’t do something dangerous.”

“I gave it back,” she replied directly, not wanting to play games.  David actually took that better than she expected, but Emma’s eyes went wide and worried, and Hook looked ready to bolt.

“You what?” Emma gasped.

“She gave it to me,” Rumplestiltskin answered, and all three visitors twisted to face him.  Hook was actually the closest to the doorway Rumplestiltskin was standing in, and seeing him there made the pirate leap to his feet and back up several paces.  Fortunately, his retreat didn’t take him near Belle, because she was pretty sure that Hook might be getting desperate enough to threaten her in exchange for his own freedom.  Perhaps she was biased, or maybe she was still a little afraid of him, but Belle didn’t want to find out.

Emma found her voice first.  “What are you doing here?”

“This is my home,” Rumplestiltskin shrugged calmly.

“But the two of you—”

“Talked,” Belle put in, remembering how even Emma, who claimed to be there to bring back everyone’s happy endings, hadn’t cared for Rumplestiltskin’s fate when Belle had thrown him out of town.  “Quite a lot, actually.”

“And you’re…?” David trailed off, clearly wanting Belle to fill in the blanks.

“Still married,” she answered simply.  What had passed between her and Rumplestiltskin was no business of theirs.  She finally understood why her husband didn’t want these others to know how fragile he was.  Before the second curse, Belle would have argued that it might actually help for the others to realize how human he was, but right now, if they realized how hurt he was, they’d probably call him unsafe and say that someone should control him.

Hook was looking between Belle and Rumplestiltskin worriedly.  David looked almost as concerned, but Emma seemed o have come back on balance.  She looked at Belle again, her expression serious.

“Are you sure that was a good idea?” the Savior asked.

“It’s hisdagger,” Belle replied.  “You didn’t like the fact that Rumplestiltskin held Hook’s heart to control _his_ free will.  No one should control Rumple’s, either.”

“It’s hardly the same thing.  I didn’t try to leave the whole town to die when the Snow Queen’s curse hit,” the pirate retorted before either of the Charmings could get in.  Belle just rolled her eyes.

“Just like Rumple didn’t steal the magic bean meant to save everyone when the failsafe was activated,” she retorted.  “Am I right in remembering that you sailed off with that and left Emma and Regina to clean up the mess?”

The pirate flushed bright red with shame, and part of Belle thought she should feel guilty for that comeback.  But she could see Rumplestiltskin’s eyes narrow slightly in approval, and she really _did_ think it was about time that someone reminded Hook that he wasn’t perfect.  Or at least reminded everyone else of the failings that Hook hadn’t seemed able to forget himself.  _I forgave him once.  Never again._

“Look, this isn’t about Hook,” David said, clearly trying to calm things down as Belle again contemplated kicking the pirate out of her house.  “No one’s going to say that he hasn’t made mistakes—or that we all haven’t—but this is different.  This isn’t about control.  This is about keeping people safe.  Rumplestiltskin is—”

“Standing right here, dearie,” her husband cut in, and now his voice was cold.  Belle met his eyes, silently pleading with him not to do anything dramatic, and he gave her a tight smile that she _hoped_ meant he was going to continue to try.  But at least he wasn’t surprised by the turn this conversation had taken.  Belle was, and she felt more disappointed in the others than she could ever express.

At least David had the good grace to look a little embarrassed.  Emma still looked concerned, though, and her attention was still on Belle.

“Can we talk to you about this in private?” the Savior asked, and at the moment, that was probably the worst thing she could say at the moment.

“So you can what, tell me that I should take it back?” she demanded, and if Belle was halfway to shouting, that was too bad.  “No.  You can say that in front of him.  It’s not going to matter if Rumplestiltskin hears that you only view him as a means to an end, because he already _knows_ that.  He saved _all_ of us when he killed Pan, and none of you cared.  You called him _family_ to get magical solutions free of charge, but the moment he was finally free of the _witch_ who was controlling him, you wanted to control him, too.”

Belle wasn’t sure when she had jumped to her feet, only that she was towering over a shocked Emma and David as she snarled those last two sentences.  Her back was to Hook, but she knew that Rumplestiltskin would never let the pirate get too close to her, and that was a liberating feeling.  Almost as liberating as telling these heroes how two-faced they had been.

“You praise Regina because she’s trying to be better.  But you ignore it when Rumple tries to do the same.  Regina cursed us _all_ here, killed hundreds back home, and yet you forgive her.  You stand by her when she struggles and you give her love and support because you call her your family through Henry,” she continued, hearing the cracks in her own voice.  Still, Belle had to be careful not to go too far, not to betray any of the confidences her husband had trusted her with.  And she didn’t dare look at him while she ranted onwards, letting her emotions carry her forwards and say what the Charmings needed to hear.  “I’m not even sure that you think of him as human.  You just look at him as a power source, don’t you?”

“He’s the Dark One,” Charming said, as if it explained everything.

For them, that _did_ explain everything, didn’t it?  Winded and suddenly feeling so tired, Belle glanced at her husband.  She hadn’t expected to see the admiration shinning in his eyes, to see the surprised and grateful way he looked at her. 

“Don’t bother, sweetheart,” Rumplestiltskin said quietly, holding a hand out to her.  Belle was only too glad to cross the room and take it, slipping between the chair Hook had abandoned and the couch Emma and David still occupied to stand next to her husband.  “Don’t waste your breath.”

“I had to try,” she replied, her heart heavy.  Emma and David were such _good_ people.  Why did they have to look at Rumple like he was just some demon?

“Thank you,” he bowed his head to whisper, and Belle knew the words—and the squeeze of her fingers—were for her alone.  But then he straightened, and his eyes were dark when he looked at the other three.  But his voice was quiet as he said: “I will give you, and anyone else, fair warning.  Anyone who tries to take the dagger from me will meet a swift end.  I have no designs upon the town, so anyone who does not threaten me, or my family, is safe.  Contrary to what you may think of me, I am not a murdering fiend, and I am in _full_ control of myself.”

“Oh, so does that mean you’re not going to try to force all the magical beings in town into the hat again?” Hook piped up immediately, and Belle had to give him credit for courage.  He still seemed certain that Rumplestiltskin was going to try to kill him at any moment.  Then again, he might have also felt Emma would protect him.

Rumplestiltskin chuckled softly, but Belle could feel the tension in him.  They hadn’t discussed the hat—she’d avoided that topic for the most part, because she was afraid of what her husband would say on that front.  She could understand what he wanted, but killing people to get it was just _wrong_. 

“Have you ever known me to try the same trick twice?” he asked, flashing a cold smile at the pirate.  “No.  I’m done with the hat.  The apprentice and his little toys are perfectly safe from me.  What I wanted was my freedom, which I now have.”  He glanced at Belle, and she could feel the slight tremor in the hand she held, invisible to the eye though it was.  “Perhaps I simply went about it in the wrong manner.”

Belle squeezed his hand so hard that it hurt her own fingers, and she knew that her smile was perhaps bigger than the situation called for.  But she was proud of him.  This was a decision Rumple had made on his own, and although she knew he wasn’t necessarily looking at putting people into the hat to fuel his freedom as _wrong_ , he had still decided that he couldn’t take that road again, no matter how badly he wanted to.  He still called himself a man who made wrong decisions, but here he was finally coming around to something right.

“So, now what, then?” Emma asked, rising to her feet as well.  David followed suit a moment later.

“Now, either you decide—foolishly, in my opinion—to pursue trying to control me, or we declare a truce.”  He shrugged, and Belle felt his tension ratchet upwards tenfold.  Rumplestiltskin was afraid of their answer, she realized.  He was afraid that they’d see through the bravado at how damaged he was, or how badly they _could_ damage him if they got the dagger.  But his voice showed none of that fear.  It was still cool, though a little lighter, as if he didn’t care which way the heroes went.  “Your choice.”

Emma and David exchanged glances, but it was the Savior who asked: “And does that truce include Killian, or not?”

“Oh, it does,” Rumplestiltskin replied immediately, and Belle felt him relax ever so slightly.  But then, she could tell by the tone of his voice that he knew that he’d won, so that meant he could afford to play with the others.  Usually, she hated that habit of his, but if toying with them kept him from killing anyone, Belle was willing to let it slide today.  “I think that the _good_ captain can live with what he’s done, and the consequences of it, don’t you?”

That seemed to surprise the other three, but Belle had seen it coming.  None of them seemed to know what to say when Rumplestiltskin shrugged and continued:

“I’ve no interest in killing your latest beau, Miss Swan.  He was merely a means to an end when I required his heart to complete my work with the hat.  He has always been the one crying for revenge, and I had intended to abide by the truce we made on our way to Neverland.  Truthfully, I probably would never have bothered ripping his heart out if he hadn’t started blackmailing me.”

Oh, that was too good.  Immediately, Emma’s head snapped around to look at Hook, and if she was waiting for the pirate to deny that fact—the one he obviously hadn’t shared when her when his heart had been returned to him—Hook did not.  He just glared at Rumplestiltskin, and suddenly it was not Belle’s husband who looked like the murderous bastard in the room.  Had Hook _not_ tried to have her killed, Belle might have felt sorry for him, but three times was one time too many.  She was a forgiving person by nature, but a long time would pass before she could forgive Hook.  If ever.  The pirate probably had no idea that she’d saved his life a _third_ time the night before, in talking Rumple out of killing him, but Belle didn’t care.  She hadn’t done it for his sake.  She’d done that for Rumple’s.

“I can see we have a lot to talk about,” Emma half-growled, and Belle did feel a little bad for her.  There was no feeling like finding out that the man you loved had let you down, and Belle did wish Emma the best.  She was angry at Hook, but Emma deserved better than to have to go through this because of Hook’s choices.  And Emma had saved _her_ life, too. 

“Thank you, by the way,” Belle said quietly to the Savior.  “If you hadn’t arrived when you did, I’d be dead.  And everyone would be blaming Rumple for it.”

“You’re welcome,” Emma replied, some of the anger leaving her face.  “You deserved better than that.  You always have.”

Belle smiled, but almost jumped when her husband chimed in from her side.  “I owe you thanks as well, Miss Swan,” Rumplestiltskin said.  “You saved Belle’s life, and that is a debt I will never repay.   If you ever have need of my assistance, all you need do is ask.”

“So, you’re saying that you owe me a favor,” the Savior said, and she was almost smiling.

“So I am.”

“And if I asked for the dagger?” Emma challenged him, and Belle felt Rumplestiltskin bristle.  But he still smiled.

“Not that,” he answered with an ease that hid the terror Belle knew he was experiencing. “I said I’d owe you a favor, not that I’d be your slave.”

 _That_ word had an interesting effect on Emma.  “You wouldn’t—”

“Call it what it is, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin cut her off, his voice suddenly sharp.  “If you hold that dagger, I am your slave.  And that is _not_ something I will ever be again.”

Both Charmings blinked hard at that, but, tellingly, Hook did not.  But then, Belle knew that Hook had held the dagger.  When you did, when you controlled Rumple for more than a few moments in that manner, you understood how very inescapable the hold of the dagger was for him.  Had Belle not been so angry at the town line, she would never have been able to see that through; she’d felt the darkness pulling at her own soul, demanding she grind him underfoot.  Demanding that she hurt him, destroy him, force him to bow to her and be her slave.  But neither David nor Emma really understood that, and Belle devoutly hoped they never would.  Emma, however, recovered as quickly as she usually did, finally bringing the conversation back to the topic that had brought the three of them to the pink mansion in the first place.

“Then this demon,” she started to say, only to find herself cut off once more, this time by Rumplestiltskin’s quiet chuckle.

“Don’t waste your favor on that, Emma,” he said with a quiet smile.  “Henry’s my grandson.  You could always just _ask_.”

For a long moment, no one in the room knew what to say.  Even Belle was surprised by Rumplestiltskin volunteering that, just a little.  She knew how he liked to weigh and measure the costs of magic, and she knew that he enjoyed doing deals, too.  But she also knew that he cared more for Henry than he was likely to admit, and that he regretted the distance between himself and Bae’s son.  _Hook said that he was going to take me and Henry with him while the rest of the town was destroyed by the Snow Queen’s curse,_ Belle remembered.  Of course Rumple would help protect Henry.  She was only surprised to find him offering.  But then again, this made the heroes bend, too, didn’t it? They weren’t making a deal, and they couldn’t _demand_ Rumplestiltskin help them because it was right, either.  Or because they were ‘family’.  They had to _ask._   Like they would anyone else.

Finally, it was David who cleared his throat and asked: “Will you help us with this demon, then?”

“Yes.”  Rumplestiltskin met the prince’s eyes levelly.  “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who nominated this story for The Espenson Awards! It’s now a finalist for Best “Fix It” fic, and I am utterly floored. 
> 
> Next up: Everyone goes to see Regina, Emma learns a bit about healing, Henry spends a bit of time with his grandfather, and then the demon comes out to play. While you’re waiting, please do drop me a line and let me know what you think!


	6. VI

There was something quite delicious about throwing Emma and David for a loop like that, Rumplestiltskin decided.  His curse was rather disquieted by the notion of helping without demanding anything in return, but Rumplestiltskin had long since learned how to wrestle his curse into submission when it came to protecting his family.  He didn’t really care what his own inner demon said about needing to kill Hook, either; Belle had been right, as usual.  Watching the discomfort on Hook’s face when he dismissed the pirate as too unimportant to waste vengeance on had been rather delightful.  Oh, he’d enjoyed taunting Hook when he’d had his heart, and he would have enjoyed crushing it, too.  There was no denying that.  Hook had threatened his marriage _and_ had tried to kill Belle twice (three times, now), so yes, Rumplestiltskin certainly would have relished killing him.  He was far too self-honest to deny that.

Yet _not_ killing him was proving even more entertaining.  Hook looked positively put out to have Rumplestiltskin declare that vengeance was not a priority for him, particularly after what had transpired.  Death was so quick, after all.  Watching Hook flounder and try to explain himself to his own love was a much more lasting form of revenge.  Now Hook had to face the fact that Emma had seen him for what he was deep down inside: a pirate who would murder an innocent woman just to have revenge.  He was no hero, and now Emma got to see that, too. 

Those thoughts kept Rumplestiltskin warm on the way to the hospital, although it was hardly a long trip.  After agreeing to help, he’d simply twitched his fingers and brought all five of them to the hospital, landing them in the hallway outside of Regina’s private hospital room.  After all, Rumplestiltskin was not going to take Ursula’s word (particularly via pirate) for what the demon was.  He needed to talk to the woman who had faced it, and also make sure that his grandson was all right.  _If this_ is _an elemental demon of darkness, Henry is by far its most appetizing meal,_ he thought to himself.  _It won’t stop coming for him, even if Emma jumps in the way.  The Savior is also undoubtedly on the menu, but the Truest Believer is more appealing._ Rumplestiltskin frowned.  _It will come for Henry again, and soon._ He would have to plan quickly and carefully.  Particularly because the demon would find _Belle_ almost as appetizing as Henry.  Probably more so than Emma, truth be told.  Their Savior had her sharper edges; Belle was just _good_.

Doctor Whale, who’d been speaking to a nurse just a few feet away, went rather white when the group appeared in a cloud of maroon smoke.  And why maroon?  It matched Rumplestiltskin’s chosen tie, and he did like to color coordinate.

“You people have _got_ to stop doing that,” Whale groused, and Emma gave him an apologetic look.  Rumplestiltskin simply looked around, acquired his bearings magically, and strode into the room Regina resided in without asking for directions.

Snow and Henry were there—along with the smallest Charmlet, sleeping blissfully in his carrier—and of course, Snow jumped to her feet upon seeing him.

“What are you doing here?” the fairest of them all demanded, her eyes just a little too wide.  Really, someone who had been on the receiving end of his help so many times ought not look at him with so much trepidation or fury, but Rumplestiltskin was rather used to it.  He could even convincingly pretend that it had never bothered him at all.

“It’s okay,” Charming spoke up immediately.  “He’s here to help.”

Snow looked doubtful; Rumplestiltskin smiled thinly.  “Indeed I am,” he replied, and then promptly ignored her, turning to their mutual grandson, who was also watching him with wide eyes.  But Henry didn’t look afraid, only surprised.  “Hello, Henry.”

“Hey, Grandpa,” the boy smiled tentatively, and Rumplestiltskin found his own smile growing warmer in response.  “I was hoping I’d see you when I heard you came back.”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner,” he replied honestly.  “Things have been…complicated.”

“Did you and Belle make up?” Henry asked, obviously noticing her in the room, too.

“That we did.” 

Apparently there was one other person in this town who actually believed he might have real feelings, and seeing his grandson beam happily made Rumplestiltskin’s heart ache.  _He looks so much like Bae…_ And Rumplestiltskin had not been there for Henry as often as he should have been.  He’d been too caught up in his own insane quest for freedom to notice the precious things right in front of him, telling himself that he could get to know Henry afterwards and make it up to Belle later.  _Not anymore,_ he promised himself silently.  _My family is more important than any hat._

“Good,” Henry smirked, and Rumplestiltskin reached out to ruffle his hair without thinking.  The boy tried to dodge and didn’t quite manage, but the scowl Henry wore was more playful than not.

“Now, as pleasant as this reunion is, let’s see what I can’t do for your mother, shall we?” he asked, and watched several people start in surprise.  Hook had possessed the sense—of self-preservation if not common sense—to stay in the doorway, but the entire Charming clan was crammed in the hospital room, along with Belle and the still-comatose Regina. 

“Can you heal her?” Henry asked eagerly.

“I believe I can.”  This was not part of any deal, and his relationship with Regina had always been complicated, but Rumplestiltskin could do this for Henry.  And besides, he needed to hear from his star pupil about the demon she had faced. 

Rumplestiltskin flicked magic at Regina as he spoke, evaluating her condition as he concentrated on the threads of magic surrounding her.  Forcing himself to turn his back on the Charmings was hard—he would never forget that they, like Regina, preferred to have him enslaved by someone ‘good’—but Rumplestiltskin hid those fears and focused.  Once, he had thought he might someday be able to trust these people.  Now, he knew that he could not, and at least that was in the open.  Immediately, however, something jumped out of his magical scan of Regina, so he turned to glance at the Savior. 

“You tried to wake her, didn’t you?”

Emma frowned.  “Yeah.  So?”

“Your metaphorical fingerprints are all over her,” he shrugged.  “Do you know why you couldn’t bring her back?”

“No.”  The frown only grew.  “I…it didn’t work.  She just felt _empty_ when she should have been waking up.”

“An apt description,” Rumplestiltskin agreed.  “Elemental demons, particularly those of darkness, consume souls.  The better and brighter the soul, the more drawn in the demon is.  Regina was not its prime target—that would be Henry, unfortunately—but there is enough goodness in her that the demon would have cheerfully consumed her.”

“Are you saying that it ate her soul?” Snow asked, sounding sickened.  And looking a little suspicious.

“No, I’m saying that it would have,” he replied calmly.  “Fortunately, Regina had the presence of mind to shield her soul from harm at the last minute, although she did it far later than she should have, probably to keep the demon’s attention on her long enough to get Henry away.  But we’ll have to heal her before we can draw her back out; her soul is not going to emerge while the rest of her is so battered.”

“We?” Emma echoed dubiously.

Rumplestiltskin smiled.  “Are you going to pass up an opportunity to learn, Miss Swan?”

That made her blink.  “I’m not interested in learning dark magic,” the Savior said cautiously.

“Now, when did I suggest that?”  The increasingly confused look on Emma’s face, along with the faint tinge of alarm in her parents’ expressions, was becoming downright entertaining.  Rumplestiltskin knew what they thought of him, and he knew that those opinions never really would change.  The Charmings had proven that to him twice, both times before he’d decided to re-visit his own more villainous days.  But by letting Regina take what she thought was the dagger in the barn, and by not even trying to free him from the cage inside his own castle, this heroic little family had proven to him that he was nothing but a tool to them, and one best kept on a leash at that.  Still, confusing them was more entertaining than simply fulfilling their perfect mental image of the terribly evil Dark One.  Let them wonder when he showed them something they did not expect.

“You’re the Dark One,” Emma said bluntly, playing right into his hands.  “Isn’t that what you do?”

 He chuckled softly, gathering magic to himself as he did so.  “It’s not _all_ I do, dear.  I’d be a terribly limited sorcerer if I could only use dark magic.  Healing others is only light magic, for example.  Didn’t you notice that Regina never healed anyone save herself until recently?”

“I guess so?”

“Regina was never terribly interested in light magic in her vengeance-focused days.  I, however, prefer not to be so restricted.”

“You’re saying that _you_ can do light magic,” Charming cut in, full of disbelief.

“Of course I can,” Rumplestiltskin replied, giving the prince a blasé look.  “It does rather go against the nature of my curse, but I _am_ capable of it.  Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to heal Regina at all.”  He turned to glance at Emma.  “Well, Miss Swan?  Do you care to learn, or not?”

He had to give Emma credit.  She never had been the type to turn down a challenge, so Rumplestiltskin used the next ten minutes giving her a quick and dirty lesson in the basics of healing.  Had there not been an elemental demon of darkness running around town, he would have taken more time, because Rumplestiltskin really did enjoy teaching magic.  Emma was a frustrating student, reckless and overly cautious all at the same time, but she was clever and powerful, and he could see the fruits of Regina’s tutelage beginning to develop quite nicely.  Emma listened, too, and even if she had an interesting bunch of misconceptions where magic was concerned.  She was smart enough, once she started thinking and stopped digging her heels in, so she caught on quickly and even managed to do a good portion of the spell that finally woke Regina up.

“You?” Regina croaked, noticing Emma right away.

The Savior laughed.  “Actually, I was just the backup on this one.  You can thank Gold for waking you up.”

Blinking, the former mayor glanced around the room, seeming to notice everyone else for the first time.  Her eyes lingered on Henry the longest and on Rumplestiltskin for the least amount of time; clearly, she knew that he was had not yet completely forgiven her for what she had done in Zelena’s barn, and being Regina, she wasn’t interested in bringing it up.  Nor did she seem interested in remembering the genuinely emotional moment they’d shared shortly before she sent her True Love over the town line.  Finally, her gaze settled on Belle.

“Thank you,” Regina said slowly, sitting up.  Then she winced as an obviously blinding headache hit her.  “I think.”

Belle stepped up on Rumplestiltskin’s left, and he could feel the tension radiating off of his wife.  “Why are you thanking me?” she asked quietly. 

“I assume this was your idea.”  But Regina’s eyes were already narrowing with suspicion; she’d always been a smart woman, and Rumplestiltskin let a small smile play over his lips.

“If you mean that you assume I forced Rumple to heal you, you’re wrong,” Belle replied, and her soft tone was no longer masking her anger.  Rumplestiltskin almost felt bad; he’d destroyed some of his wife’s illusions about these people, about what they wanted and how they viewed him.  He was far from perfect and knew it, but even a monster didn’t appreciate being treated like he was only a tool.  Belle’s eyes flashed as Regina looked at her quizzically.  “It was never right for _any_ of us to control him.  I gave him the dagger back.”

“You _what_?” Regina and Snow gaped together, even as Henry started to grin.  Rumplestiltskin noted all three reactions, but it was his grandson’s who surprised him.  And warmed his long-withered heart, just a little bit.  “He’s dangerous.”

“So are you,” Belle shot back before Rumplestiltskin could reply, but he was getting really sick of having people talk about him like he wasn’t there.  Particularly Regina, who should have known better than nearly anyone how very human he could be.  But his wife continued angrily:  “I don’t see anyone demanding you hand over a method of controlling you just because you’ve hurt people before.”

Regina flinched.  “I’m trying to be better.”

“And this is irrelevant,” Rumplestiltskin cut in.  Although a part of him really _was_ relishing the opportunity to watch Belle make verbal mincemeat out of Regina, there was a bigger problem at hand.  He was no hero, and never would be one, but Henry _was_ his grandson.  That demon’s mere existence endangered him, and Rumplestiltskin needed information.  “I didn’t wake you up out of the goodness of my heart, dearie,” he told Regina.  “You faced this demon.  Tell me about it.”

“What, so you can help?” Regina scoffed.

“Yes, actually.  You may have forgotten that we have Henry in common, but I have not.”

That blow clearly landed just where he meant it to; Rumplestiltskin _did_ care for Regina, and he’d wanted to say farewell to her before he thought he was leaving Storybrooke forever, but he really couldn’t forgive her for her reaction to him being free.  Not just yet, anyway.  Regina, however, always gave as good as she got.

“Pardon me for having forgotten that when you were prepared to let the town die,” she retorted.

He only shrugged.  “I didn’t see you working miracles there, either,” he said dryly.  “But are we going to compare resumes of evil, or are you going to tell me what I need to know so that I can stop this demon?”

“You.”  The Evil Queen studied him for a moment.  “Really?”

“Contrary to what recent events would tell you, I’m generally not in the practice of lying,” Rumplestiltskin replied, allowing himself something of an ironic shrug.  “Is it what the pirate says? _Did_ you have an elemental demon of darkness in your vault?”

“I picked it up from Maleficent’s castle when I cast the curse.  I thought it would be useful someday,” his former student admitted, looking embarrassed.  

Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help the snort of laughter that emerged.  “Lovely.  Just…lovely.”

Regina glared, and seemed like she was going to snap at him, but Henry got in first.

“Can you stop it, Grandpa?”

“You can’t stop an elemental demon without killing it, Henry,” Regina answered before Rumplestiltskin could speak.  “And no, your more evil grandfather can’t kill it any more than I can.  There was too much darkness in me, and there’s far too much in him.”

“But I thought that it consumed goodness? Shouldn’t darkness be able to kill it, then?” Henry asked astutely.

“That would be true if elemental demons were not destroyed by their opposites,” Rumplestiltskin replied before Regina could try to explain.  “You could say that it’s gluttony that kills them.  For example, the combination of you and your birth mother would undoubtedly slay our annoying little problem, but that would come at the cost of your souls.”  He waited a beat, just to let everyone in the room—save Henry and Belle, neither of whom seemed concerned—get a little worked up, and then continued.   “Obviously, that isn’t an option.  Even if your adopted mother would have _very_ much liked to have sent Miss Swan after that demon, once upon a time.”

“Only if I didn’t get caught,” Regina muttered, amusement flickering in her dark eyes.  For a moment, the distance between them lessened, and their eyes met, each thinking of people whom they’d both wanted dead a half hundred times or more.  Finally, Regina gave him a crooked smile.  “I guess I do sympathize with you on the pirate.  A little.”

“The _‘pirate’_ is right here,” Hook put in from the doorway, clearly annoyed. 

Rumplestiltskin snorted with laughter and eyed his old protégé.  “And I thought I was dangerous?”

“I suppose _that’s_ nothing new,” she retorted, rolling her eyes.  “Don’t push it.”

“Oh, I’d never dream of it.”

“Sure you wouldn’t,” Regina snorted in return, and suddenly a little bit of normality re-entered Rumplestiltskin’s very crooked world.  He was still off-balance, still felt raw and vulnerable after having shared so much with Belle, after having nearly _lost_ Belle, and now consciously showing a little more of his true self than he usually cared to around these people…but at least something was going back to normal.  Regina would never apologize—or at least probably never; she was turning over a new leaf and struggling for the acceptance of the very people Rumplestiltskin would _never_ trust—but they could perhaps reclaim their old rapport.  Or something of it.

“We’re getting a little far from the subject here,” Charming butted in, as usual.  But at least no one was paying attention to the pirate.  That was worth something, even if having his back to the Charming clan still made Rumplestiltskin nervous.

“How are you going to deal with the demon, Rumple?” Belle asked quietly, and for a moment he was struck dumb by the trust in her eyes.  It wasn’t a blind trust, but it still was _trust_ , and who was he to have earned that back from the woman he had betrayed so badly?  She had believed him when he said he would help, and right now, Rumplestiltskin would have walked across hot coals barefoot and without magic if it would make Belle happy, so _of course_ he would have helped, even if Henry had not been in danger.  But Henry was, and that only doubled his motivation.

“I’m going to give it what it wants, and then kill it with that,” he replied, enjoying the confusion flickering across every face except Belle’s.

“The bottle in the cellar,” she replied, a smile dawning on her face.  And Rumplestiltskin was damn grateful for that smile, because it meant that Belle had not done something like smash the potion he had once made from their True Love.

“I trust you don’t mind,” he said lightly to hide his relief.

Belle, however, saw right through him, and Rumplestiltskin felt her right hand slip into his left.  “It’s for a good cause,” she replied. 

Their eyes met, and Rumplestiltskin felt a soft shiver run through his body.  How had he tried to live without her?  Even touching Belle was magical right now.  He wanted to cling to her, wanted to sweep her off somewhere else where no one would bother them and where he could prove to her that he _was_ sorry, but that was hardly an option at the moment.  Not with the demon after Henry. 

“You want to let the rest of us in on this plan?” Regina demanded after a moment.

“You don’t think I only bottled True Love _once_ , do you?” he answered her question with a question, smiling wryly.  “I have another bottle, and that should be enough to kill the demon, if used properly.”

“You’ll have to trap it, first,” the Evil Queen said thoughtfully, and then suddenly gave him a calculating look.  “That won’t be easy.”

“I know.”  The humor left Rumplestiltskin’s tone; he was already starting to form a plan on how to do that, and it wasn’t one he liked at all.  In fact, the method he was already halfway certain he would have to use was downright frightening, particularly given recent events.  _But if I don’t trap it, and it gets past me…_

The fact that _Belle_ would also meet the demon’s nutritional requirements had not escaped Rumplestiltskin at all.  The only two people who meant anything to him were very much the type that the demon would want to suck dry, and Rumplestiltskin would _not_ let that happen.  The demon wouldn’t be terribly interested in him—they were too much alike—so he’d have to force it to stay away from his wife and grandson.  And he could only think of one magical object powerful enough to help with that.

First, however, he had work to do.

* * *

 

A True Love potion was far too important to keep in the shop, but Rumplestiltskin said that he _did_ need to stop by the pawnshop he had not set foot in during the last nine weeks.  The place had stood empty, with Belle usually avoiding it because of the shared memories.  Still, she stopped by from time to time when people needed a spell or a bit of information, because she’d been trying so hard to bury her regrets in work.  So, the dust accumulation was light and the shop still organized when she returned with her husband.  The books he needed to look at in were there, and although she hadn’t had a chance to ask him yet what he planned on doing, Belle figured she should give him a few minutes to sort it out in his own mind before she started pestering him curiously.

He summoned the potion in question with magic, the bottle appearing in his hand, glowing purple in the slightly musty light of the shop.  Belle remembered when he’d started making that potion; it had been before she’d lost her memories and briefly become Lacey, during the open whirlwind of their courtship.  That wonderful time had ended too early, and sometimes Belle thought they should not have married so quickly.  But she wouldn’t regret that, not now, not when the potion made of their love was glowing brightly in her True Love’s hands.

“May I?” she asked quietly, and Rumplestiltskin quirked a smile.

“Of course. It’s yours as much as it is mine.”

“It’s beautiful,” Belle breathed, taking the bottle carefully and inhaling its scent.  The smell was very much that of magic, sharp and slightly metallic, but it was also softer.  There was a hint of roses and leather.  Did those scents represent the two of them?  Just wondering about that made Belle smile, as did simply looking at the glowing purple potion.  Their love was still strong.  They might have hurt one another, but they would come back stronger than before.  She knew they would.

“The most powerful magic in all the worlds,” Rumplestiltskin confirmed, and Belle could see matching wonder in his face as he stopped sorting through books in the back room and came to stand by her side.  “And it’s…ours.”

Belle hesitated before asking her next question, but she needed to know.  “Would it have faded if our love, um…”

“Broke?” her husband supplied the word, and somehow it seemed kinder than implying their love could ever actually die.  Belle nodded, biting her lip.  “Yes, I believe it would have.”

“But it didn’t,” she whispered, feeling a smile worm its way onto her face.  They _were_ stronger now, or would be once they finished mending the hurts.  Because Belle knew they both had hurt one another for those wounds to be erased in a day; she had controlled him, and he had lied to her.  They’d nearly broken one another’s hearts…but they hadn’t.  Not now.  And Belle _knew_ their love was strong.  She’d been wrong to doubt Rumplestiltskin’s love for her before, and he’d been wrong to keep his pains inside.  Together they were stronger.

“No,” Rumplestiltskin said quietly, turning towards her to touch her face.  “Despite my foolishness.  I am so sorry, Belle.”

Laying a hand on top of his, Belle pressed her cheek into his fingers.  “So am I.  But we’ll face this together.  Right?”

“Yes.  Together.”  He said the words like he was trying them on for size, and Belle had to remind herself firmly that trusting wasn’t easy for Rumplestiltskin.  She couldn’t demand his trust any more than the Charmings could demand his help; she had to give him reasons to trust her and _keep_ reminding him that she was here.  Perhaps that wasn’t fair to her, but Belle hadn’t gotten into this relationship because it was _fair._   She was with Rumplestiltskin because she loved him, and she needed to remember that meant loving his insecurities, too.  He’d been hurt more in his life than she would probably ever understand, and if that meant she sometimes had to force back her own frustration, that was what she would do.

_Wishing_ him better and assuming he was all right had helped get them into this mess in the first place.  If Belle didn’t acknowledge his problems, Rumplestiltskin would hide them away, and she wasn’t going to let him go back in that shell now that she’d coaxed him out.  He was trying to be brave, and she would help him.

“I love you,” she reminded him, taking his hand away from her cheek to kiss his knuckles.  She loved watching his brown eyes soften, loved the way his expression melted into a smile that was only for her.

“And I love you.”

The ringing of the bell on the front door to the shop interrupted them when they were _just_ about to kiss, and Belle heard her husband snarl something annoyed under his breath.  _I suppose that_ some _things will never change,_ she thought wryly.  Still, Belle was fairly sure that whoever had come barging into the shop now, ignoring the sign that still said ‘closed’ was going to face the sharp edge of her husband’s very clever tongue.  And she couldn’t really blame him for that.  Belle really was sick of being interrupted every time they tried to have a few quiet moments.

Fortunately, it was Henry who ducked into the back, and Belle saw the anger melt right out of Rumplestiltskin. “Hey Grandpa.  Hey Belle!” the young man grinned at the pair of them.

“Hey, you,” Belle replied, smiling at the boy who’d offered to call her ‘Grandma’ with a smile that could warm anyone’s heart.

“Hello, Henry.”  Rumplestiltskin’s response was more restrained, or at least quieter, but Belle could sense the emotion that Bae’s son woke in her husband. 

But he was clearly _not_ prepared for his grandson to march up and hug him, because Belle saw Rumplestiltskin’s eyes go so very wide for a moment as Henry did so.  He reacted fairly quickly, wrapping his arms around his grandson in turn, but the shock was obvious on his face.  Belle knew how lonely Rumplestiltskin had been, particularly since his son’s death.  She’d tried to fill that void in him all by herself, but maybe she didn’t have to.  Maybe Henry could help.

“I missed you when you were gone, Grandpa,” Henry said quietly, drawing back to smile at Rumplestiltskin.  “I’m glad you’re back.  And that you and Belle are okay.”

“So am I,” Rumplestiltskin replied, giving Henry a genuine smile.

Henry’s grin returned.  “So.  Are you gonna tell me how you’re going to kill the demon?”

“Is that why you came here?”

“No.  I wanted to see you,” the boy replied honestly.  “But it _was_ a bonus.”

“I think _someone’s_ a budding manipulator, falling right in line with his family’s traditions,” Belle put in lightly, and watched Henry snicker and Rumplestiltskin smirk ever so slightly.  She looked at her husband.  “But he’s also not the only one who’s curious here, Rumple.”

“Ah.  Well.  In that case, I suppose I should say something then, shouldn’t I?” Rumplestiltskin replied with a smile.  Then he began to explain.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin was only a few sentences into his (slightly vague) explanation when his cell phone rang.  He’d all but forgotten about it, having left the phone in the shop when he went to kill Hook in the clock tower and not having seen it since.  But there it was, lying on the counter, still plugged into the charger where he’d last seen it nine weeks earlier.  Back on that fateful night, Rumplestiltskin had intentionally ‘forgotten’ his phone in the shop, figuring that doing so was smarter than ignoring a call from his wife.  In the end, of course, that little bit of subterfuge hadn’t helped him at all; his mistakes had _still_ caught up with him, and his world had still fallen apart.  And yet—yet here he was, with his wife and his grandson, no longer feeling the crippling loneliness that had defined his life ever since leaving Storybrooke.

Except the damn phone was ringing, interrupting his carefully worded explanation of how he intended to trap the demon (because there was another way short of using the most powerful magical object in his possession; it would just take significant preparation and help from Henry).  Shooting it a glare didn’t make the annoyingly trilling noise stop, either, and Belle threw him an amused look while Henry piped up:

“I don’t think the Evil Dark One Glare works on cell phones, Grandpa.”

A surprised snort of laughter wormed its way out before Rumplestiltskin could stop it.  “I suppose they don’t,” he admitted ruefully as Belle giggled.  Scowling extra hard—because being ribbed by his grandson had made him smile—Rumplestiltskin picked up the phone, recognizing the number right away.  “What do _you_ want, dearie?”

Their relationship might be better than it was, but that didn’t mean he wanted Regina butting into his life on a regular basis again.  Even if she was the closest thing to a friend that he’d had for far too many years.  _Besides, she’s probably just calling because she lost track of Henry and is worrying herself sick with the demon on the loose._ Hearing Regina’s voice had never put him in the best of moods, going back to when he’d been plain Mr. Gold and she’d been Mayor Mills.  Then she’d _always_ gotten under his skin, though truth be told, he’d always given as good as he’d received. 

“You said you were going to deal with this demon, right?” Regina demanded, sounding breathless.

“I didn’t think your hearing had gone defective after you decided to play hero,” he replied dryly.

“Funny,” his former protégé snorted.  “Now’s your time, Rumple.  It’s coming after Emma.”

“Now?” Rumplestiltskin echoed, and could have slapped himself for sounding stupid.

“No, next week!  Of course _now_ ,” Regina snarled.  “And I hope to hell that Henry actually is with you, because that might be the one safe place in this town.  Emma and I will hold it off as long as we can, but it’s not looking good.  The damn thing is practically drooling over her.”

Well, there went the idea of a carefully laid Plan B.  Plan A it was, and Plan A was going to be ugly.  _Ugly and risky.  Why did I volunteer to help with this again?_  

But he had wanted them to actually _ask_ him like he was a human being, had wanted to make the Charmings face the fact that they’d never looked at him as anything other than a power source.  Oh, Rumplestiltskin was not such a fool as to think that they’d ever really see him as anything other than the Dark One, or that they’d ever stop wanting to control him, but he wanted to make them realize that things were not so simple as they thought.  He _was_ capable of feeling, and none of them had ever even asked him if he cared about Henry or not.  Part of him hated them for that, hated them for assuming that his connection to Henry died with Baelfire.  And what little humanity remained in him _burned_ to prove them wrong.

Besides, even if the demon avoided Henry after consuming Emma (Rumplestiltskin _did_ have a way to make that happen, if worst came to worst), it was likely to go after Belle next.  And blood magic could not protect his wife.  So, he took a deep breath, threw his carefully constructed Plan B out the window, and decided to improvise.

“I’ll be right there.”

* * *

 

Trusting the crocodile was _never_ a good idea.  While Killian had been shocked that the Dark One hadn’t decided to kill him on the spot, he’d been less surprised to see that that Belle had fallen for his wiles once more.  The man hadn’t seemed like much pre-curse, but apparently he’d acquired a bit more appeal since dousing himself in darkness, because the poor woman kept going back to him, despite the fact that she was smarter than that.  Belle seemed to think that she’d worked out her issues with her husband, but Killian knew better.  The Dark One _always_ lied.  He was a demon, plain and simple, and the best solution for all of Storybrooke really would be if he and this elemental demon of darkness killed one another off.  Belle would mourn for a while, but then she’d truly be free, and Killian knew everyone else would be better off for it.

Because it wasn’t like Rumplestiltskin really intended to get rid of the demon free of charge.  The bastard loved his word games, after all, and David had asked him to _help_ with the demon.  Heavens only knew what Rumplestiltskin would define helping as, and he certainly wasn’t here to help Emma right now!  Regina was standing next to Emma as Killian watched helplessly, already having discovered that the demon wouldn’t even so much as _notice_ him.  He’d done everything he could to attract its attention that morning, and the beastie just ignored him because he apparently wasn’t ‘good’ enough for it.  Regina wasn’t, either—although according to Rumplestiltskin (as if his opinion could be trusted, she had enough lightness to make a decent snack)—but she _did_ have magic, which meant that she could make the demon notice her.  Just like she was doing now, standing at Emma’s side while the two of them tried to keep the demon in the center of Main Street.

It was a losing battle. 

“I’m not done with you yet, you bastard,” Regina growled as he watched, rocking back on her heels from whatever blow the demon had dealt her almost as soon as she’d dropped her cell phone.  Emma had been forced to catch the Evil Queen, but that had made the demon focus on _her_ , and Killian felt sick when he watched Emma stumble and then fall to one knee.  The demon hovered over her, a black shadow standing out against the afternoon sky, hissing in glee and moving in for the kill.

Killian darted forward, but Regina had already launched a fireball at the demon, which swatted it aside with contemptuous ease.  So, he paused in mid-stride, waiting to see where he could do the most good.

“That’s right,” the Evil Queen grinned, summoning another fireball up, this one three times larger than the last.  “Pay attention to the annoying sorceress first.  It’s not dinner time yet.”

“Regina, look out—” Emma started to cry, but the demon had already whipped around with unnatural speed, and was flying at Regina faster than the eye could track.  He didn’t even have a chance to blink before the demon was on top of her, and the fireball had barely left Regina’s fingers when the demon slammed into her.

The Evil Queen let out a strangled scream as darkness that _everyone_ in the gathering crowd could see lashed her, opening deep cuts across her face, arms, and torso.  Her fireball bounced weakly against the demon as she collapsed in pain, blood spattering across the street.  It actually arced far enough out to strike a few bystanders, and Killian felt wetness splash across his own leather jacket.  Emma took the worst of it, with one arm of her red leather jacket turning dark maroon in large splotches.  The demon bore down on Regina, whose arms raised jerkily in what was probably an instinctive attempt to defend herself, until the sorceress abruptly disappeared in a cloud of purple smoke.

Unfortunately, that left Emma standing alone.  To be fair, it was probably the only choice Regina had—the demon might have killed her, otherwise—but Killian still wanted to shake her for running at a time like this.  _He_ wasn’t going to leave Emma alone against the demon, even if it meant flinging himself right in its path.  Emma might have been angry at him at the moment, might not have wanted to talk to him, but he still loved her and was going to fight for her.  _Even if it kills me,_ he swore to himself, striding forward once more as Emma flung up a wall of brilliant white magic between herself and the demon.  Her spell shimmered in the air, beautiful and nearly transparent, hovering protectively over the Savior.  But the demon never even slowed down.

Hissing out a high-pitched laugh, the demon seemed to inhale the light magic.  Its red eyes glowed even brighter, and it made a terrible slurping noise of glee as it destroyed Emma’s clearly powerful defenses, rolling in on her with its mouth gaping open.  Emma fired off another burst of white magic, but the demon gulped that down, too, moving towards her faster than Killian could run.  It was twenty feet away, and then ten, and then—

“Emma, _run!_ ” he shouted desperately, shooting at the demon with the antique pistol he’d never been able to give up.  It paused to glance at him, but never stopped its rush forward, its arms reaching out for Emma as Killian realized with horror that his love had never learned to teleport herself magically.  She couldn’t move fast enough, and the demon was closing in too fast.

Until a wall of darkness, just as powerful and as fierce as the white one Emma had thrown up earlier, reared up and stopped the demon in its tracks.  The creature crashed into it, snarling and hissing, and suddenly Rumplestiltskin was between Emma and the demon, his magic wrapping the demon in fiery hands while it twisted and howled. 

“You’d best take the pirate’s advice, dear,” the Dark One said easily.  “Our friend here isn’t going to want to chew on me nearly as much as he likes you.”

“You gonna be all right?” Emma asked, and Killian wanted to scream at her to run again.

Rumplestiltskin smiled, although to Killian’s eyes, the expression looked much more like a sneer.  “Well, _one_ of us won’t be,” he drawled, nodding at the demon.  “Get clear so I can trap it, and _do_ keep everyone else out of the way, too.  I’d hate for half the town to become collateral damage.”

_I bet you would_ , Killian thought as he reached the pair, but he didn’t say it.  He just reached for Emma’s arm, only to find her jerking away the moment he touched her.  She was still angry, but wasn’t this bigger than that?  Still, his love just shot one more look at the Dark One, meeting his eyes as the demon continued to howl and twist in the grip of Rumplestiltskin’s magic.  It looked like it was starting to break free, though, and up close, Killian could see the strain in the Dark One’s face.

Maybe they really would be lucky and he’d kill himself doing this.

“Good luck,” Emma told Rumplestiltskin, and the smaller man just nodded as Emma finally let Killian pull her aside.  They joined the crowd as the demon finally broke free of the Dark One’s hold, spiraling up into the sky until Rumplestiltskin reached up with one hand and _tugged_ on invisible threads of magic.  That brought the demon crashing back towards the ground, but it stopped before impacting with the pavement, rushing towards the Dark One, who quickly disappeared in a swirl of black smoke.

“I’m behind you, dearie.  Don’t start running away from me now,” Rumplestiltskin taunted it, and the demon hissed in fury.  Just like it had when Regina had baited it, the demon whirled on its tormenter and sped forwards, lashing out with dark winds of magic.

Rumplestiltskin was faster than Regina, and he managed to get shields up in time.  Mostly.  Killian couldn’t help smiling slightly when he watched a trio of deep cuts rip open the Dark One’s left cheek, with blood spattering against the onrushing shadow.   But Rumplestiltskin teleported away from the demon again, landing ten feet or so behind it and summoning up a fireball that he launched at its underside.  The demon twisted away from that blow, whirling around with a loud snarl and rushing in to attack the Dark One again.  The two were so close that Rumplestiltskin almost didn’t manage to vanish in time, but somehow he did, even as Killian heard several people in the crowd gasp in shock.  Again, Rumplestiltskin landed just a few feet away from the demon, lobbing magic at it and keeping its attention as the demon snarled.

“We’ve got to do something to help him,” Emma said from his right, pulling her arm out of his grip. 

“He said he’d deal with it, love,” Killian pointed out, throwing her a pleading look.  Emma looked pale and worn already, like she’d gone five or six rounds with a tiger, and she was in no shape to get back into the fight.  “We should stay out of the way.”

“Because I think you’re completely unbiased on this front,” she retorted, just as David jogged up.  Immediately, she turned to her father and ignored the way Killian’s heart was clenching in his chest.  “Where’s Regina?  Is she okay?”

“Your mom’s with her, but she’s out of the fight for now,” the prince replied, his eyes also on the fight.  Rumplestiltskin had teleported away from the demon for a fourth time, but this time it managed to hit him with a wave of darkness that tore the Dark One’s side open. 

“Any ideas?” Emma asked, but David just shook his head.

Meanwhile, Rumplestiltskin landed a little further from the demon, staggering slightly as he landed, the left half of his expensive suit jacket tattered and ragged.  But his hands snapped up quickly enough, wrapping the demon in a surprisingly _light_ set of bonds.  Looking equal parts confused and pleased, the demon chortled happily and started consuming the magic that held it in place, slurping up the power as its eyes glowed in triumph.  _Even_ I _could have told him that wouldn’t work,_ Killian thought, annoyed.  _Doesn’t he listen to his little wife at all?_

“Enjoy the free meal, dearie,” the Dark One told the demon, reaching inside the tattered remnants of his jacket with his right hand.  He shrugged out of the garment at the same time, but when his hand came free, it held a dagger that Killian knew entirely too well.

Dropping to one knee, Rumplestiltskin stabbed the dagger of the Dark One into the ground.  Immediately, two matching lines of fire raced outwards from the dagger, somehow not singing Rumplestiltskin at all, but burning into the street, making the smell of scorched pavement fill the air.  Each raced outwards for about twenty feet, at which point both made a sharp right turn, burning a forty foot diameter circle into Main Street around Rumplestiltskin and the demon.  The Dark One released the dagger and straightened out of his crouch as the flames grew to waist height, shimmering blue and red with power.  Just a few feet away from the newly-formed barrier, Killian felt the hairs on the back of his neck leap up; there was _power_ there, enough to make a chill run down his spine.

Emma actually backed a half step away as they watched the demon whirl to face the Dark One, snarling and spitting darkness in its sudden rage.

“Don’t like being trapped, do you?” Rumplestiltskin taunted the demon, his voice a little higher pitched than the one they all recognized as coming from Gold.  He stepped away from the dagger, his hands at his sides and even Killian could feel the power rolling off of him.  It was dark and toxic, thick and terrifying, and _this_ was the Dark One that they all feared.  But the demon was the same: equally dark and not nearly as discerning, snarling and hissing and just intelligent enough to pick what it liked to destroy.  It paused in mid-air, considering its opponent, and then jetted upwards towards the sky, clearly seeking to escape its prison.

Rumplestiltskin never moved, and the demon bounced hard towards the ground before it had made it past forty feet into the air.

“Now it’s just you and me,” the Dark One told the demon quietly.  “And while I might not be the most appetizing person on the Storybrooke menu, you _are_ going to have to go through me if you want to hurt my grandson.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the slightly late update – last night turned out longer than planed! Up next: Rumplestiltskin battles with the demon, and the aftermath.
> 
> In other news, this story has been nominated for Best Fix-It in The Espenson Awards on Tumblr. Voting starts on Monday, and if anyone is willing to vote for it (or for me as Best Author) I would be incredibly grateful! If you’re interested, you can go to http://theespensonawards.tumblr.com.


	7. VII

“If you’re going, I’m going, too,” Henry said, his jaw set stubbornly.  Belle turned to look at her step-grandson, trying not to sigh.  Rumplestiltskin had asked Henry to stay in the shop and stay safe while Belle headed out to provide backup for him—she was the only one he trusted to hold onto the dagger if worst came to worst—but typically, Henry had no intention of cooperating.  _He gets that from_ both _sides of the family,_ Belle thought irritably. 

“Henry…” But she trailed off, knowing that arguing with the boy was useless.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t told them much aside from the fact that the demon was after Emma and Regina was trying to help her.  He’d promised Henry that he’d take care of the problem, and told Belle that she might need to retrieve the dagger if he was somehow disabled by the demon, and she’d read the desperation in his eyes.  Under other circumstances, Belle might have expected her husband to ask her to keep Henry out of trouble, but right now he needed her.  Belle had seen the sick fear in Rumplestiltskin’s eyes, the fear that one of the ‘heroes’ would grab the dagger when he was busy saving them.   He’d promised to help, but that didn’t mean he trusted them at all.  _Or they, him._

“No way,” Henry cut her off.  They could see outside the windows that Rumplestiltskin had arrived in the street and Emma was out of danger, but that apparently didn’t deter Henry one bit.  “Grandpa needs you to get the dagger so no one else controls him.  I can help distract anyone else who might want to get it.”

“I can’t ask you to act against your family,” Belle said, not wanting to think of what would happen if there was a family tug-of-war over this remarkable boy.

“ _Grandpa_ is my family, too,” was the firm response.  “And so are you.  I know Mom and Mom mean well, but I don’t think they get it.  What happened with the hat made it obvious that Grandpa wasn’t okay after whatever Zelena did to him.  He was _never_ really a danger to the town until someone controlled him, so it’s kinda obvious that everyone is better off if he’s in control of himself.”

Blinking, Belle had to stare at Henry for a moment before she could frame a response.  But Henry was right.  Before he’d sacrificed himself, Rumplestiltskin had only ever threatened someone who endangered those he loved.  After that, everything had seemed to come unhinged.  _He never should have even tried to give me the dagger after Zelena controlled him, and I_ never _should have let him.  I think that was a cry for help that he couldn’t quite voice, and I never even noticed it._

“Has anyone ever told you what a remarkable young man you are?” she asked Henry, smiling and squeezing his shoulder.

“Usually they just tell me I’m trouble,” he replied with a grin.  “So, are you coming, or am I going out there alone?  I promise I’ll stay away from the demon.”

Sighing, Belle headed towards the door to the shop.  “Of course I’m coming,” she replied.  “Let’s go.”

Together, the librarian and the Truest Believer stepped out into the street, not far from where Rumplestiltskin and the demon were trapped inside a shield of fire, flinging magic at one another.  The darkness filling the air between them was so thick that it almost obscured the two figures.  Although Belle could see that her husband was already bleeding from his left side, but he seemed to be holding his own.  She couldn’t see the vial of True Love that she knew he had to have on him, but there was the dagger, sticking out of the street and holding the shield in place.  He’d needed the most potent magical object in his possession to trap the demon, Belle knew, but in doing so, Rumplestiltskin had also trapped himself.

She tried not to swallow in fear.  She’d just gotten him back, and they had so much left to talk about, so many wounds left to heal.  Belle was _not_ going to lose Rumplestiltskin now.

* * *

 

Dark magic ripped into his midsection, tiny glass-like shards tearing his expensive dress shirt open in small and painful patches.  Staggering, Rumplestiltskin absorbed the blow as best he could, flinging a trio of spells back at the demon.  He was using nothing complicated, just barely refined power and darkness, in each assault he threw at the elemental demon, but his attacks were still connecting.  His chosen magic was slightly more elegant than that of his opponent, who hovered over Rumplestiltskin, snarling and hissing, but anything more sophisticated would have been a waste.  He wanted to drain the demon’s strength, not to beat it in a fancy duel.

Under the circumstances, the best (and likely only) way for any Dark One to kill a demon of this flavor should have been to feed it someone suitable and hope that was enough to do it in.  Having spent time with his seventeen predecessors in the Vault, Rumplestiltskin knew that none of them would have ever dreamed of going toe to toe with an elemental demon of darkness like this.  They would have been more likely to enslave and use the creature.  _Assuming they could manage.  Some of them were_ not _that clever,_ he thought with a sneer, remembering the fools and the treacherous _._ Rumplestiltskin, however, had other concerns.

Such as the grandson who he could even now see walking out of the shop at Belle’s side.  He’d _hoped_ that Henry would stay safely inside, but Rumplestiltskin had never truly expected him to.  Hence the need to trap the demon.  Were that not required to keep Belle and Henry safe, Rumplestiltskin would _never_ have brought the dagger out to do so.  Even showing it to the residents of Storybrooke made him nervous, now.  Years ago, he had killed anyone who possessed even a _shred_ of knowledge about this crippling weakness of his.  Now most of the town knew, and he hated—feared—that fact.  Just the thought of his shield failing and someone picking up the dagger was enough to make his breath short and body tense.  And it was also enough to take his mind off the matter at hand, which meant—

Another wave of power slammed into him while his worries distracted him, eating through Rumplestiltskin’s defenses like acid.  His shields caught the brunt of the blow, but enough still got through to knock him back a step.  Grunting in pain, Rumplestiltskin retaliated with a tornado of black vines that wrapped themselves around his opponent, dragging it to the ground as it hissed angrily.

“You didn’t think I’d go down easily, did you?” Rumplestiltskin taunted the demon, dredging up a cold smile.  Elemental demons were not as smart as humans, but they were sentient, and he knew that it understood him.  “I’m not so different from you, dearie.  Do your worst.”

Those words were mostly meant to goad the demon into expending its strength, but Rumplestiltskin had also recognized the specific flavor of his opponent’s magic. It _was_ very like his own, surprisingly so.  Yet, in all his years as the Dark One, he had never encountered an elemental demon of darkness, and the experience was as fascinating as it was dangerous.  Rumplestiltskin was fairly certain that he was draining the demon faster than his own power was flagging, but he could feel fatigue beginning to pull at his muscles.  All magic came at a price, and this one was his to bear.  Darkness roared through his veins easily and powerfully, but his nearly-human body was starting to suffer the consequences.  Back in the Enchanted Forest, with the bottomless well of power of his curse, it would not have been such a significant issue. Here in Storybrooke, however, magic was different.  _He_ was different, for all the darkness at his core.  And this demon was far more of a danger to him than Rumplestiltskin would admit to anyone.

His magic might find kinship with the demon, but his soul did not.  Battered and worn though it was, it was still _Rumplestiltskin’s_ soul, despite the ways in which his curse sought to shred and destroy it.  In the end, the one thing that Rumplestiltskin had always been capable of was love.  The demon, apparently, could see that.

“Yooor soul isss too light,” the demon disagreed with his taunt in a hiss.  Rumplestiltskin snorted to hide the way his heart hammered in his chest.

“Your perception is a bit off,” he scoffed.  “That’s hardly a word anyone would use to describe the Dark One.  I think you were stuck in that bottle for too long.”

Despite his words, his mind turned unwittingly to Belle and Henry, to the son he had loved so much and lost so recently.  Yes, his soul had remained his own, but it was their influence that kept Rumplestiltskin from spiraling so deeply that he abandoned what little remained of his humanity.  Had he lost Belle the day before, Rumplestiltskin knew his soul would have died with her.  But she’d forgiven him, and somehow that had saved him from the depths of his fear and his pain.  _That_ was what the demon sensed, and Rumplestiltskin had to shove back the instinctive fear that it would target those he loved.  That was what he was here to prevent.

The demon’s laughter was high-pitched and grated on the nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

“Yooou will dooo,” the creature decided, inching closer as it hovered in the air near the apex of the dome-shaped shield.  It was hungry already, drooling black ooze.  “Then theeee boy.”

Rumplestiltskin gave his opponent a tight and sharp smile.  “Not while I live,” he retorted, making the demon hiss in annoyance.  That only helped his smile grow.  “Don’t like that, do you, dear?  Then come kill me.”

That did the trick.  Snarling, the demon rushed the Dark One, all power and toxic darkness.  But Rumplestiltskin dodged at the last moment, teleporting just a few feet to his left.  The wave of darkness tore at his right sleeve as it passed, wearing the expensive material threadbare.  The contact made his shoulder sting; fragile human flesh could not weather the same darkness that the toughened scales of old could.  But he fired back, anyway.  Still sticking with blunt weaponized darkness, Rumplestiltskin sent a sharp and heavy blow towards his opponent, watching the black mass fall like a hammer.  The demon screamed, and Rumplestiltskin pressed the offensive, conjuring up a tornado of fire and asphalt that erupted right out of Main Street.  Tongues of fire twisted around and around the floating shadow, pressing in closer and closer.  Fire couldn’t kill the demon, but it _did_ hurt, and the howl that filled the air was filled with equal parts fury and pain.

Cold smile firmly in place, Rumplestiltskin prepared another attack, but the spell never left his hands.  A wall of darkness slammed into him before he could act, hitting him from above and pounding into his shoulders and throwing the Dark One crashing down to his knees.  Kneecaps hit the pavement hard, cracking ominously with the impact.  One splintered, and Rumplestiltskin cried out, hurriedly redirecting magic to mitigate the pain.   Healing himself could wait until after the battle.  For now, blocking out the injury and forcing the limb to work had to be enough.  Physical weaknesses would only put him at a disadvantage, but Rumplestiltskin had not the focus to spare to actually fix the problem now.

Coming to his feet slowly and purposefully, Rumplestiltskin tried not to let out his own hiss of pain, tried not to favor his right leg.  Instead, he reached deep into the power of his curse and summoned forth _power_.  His curse resisted for a moment, as if always did, rebelling against being used to protect those he loved.  But Rumplestiltskin shoved its objections aside, digging into the darkness and lobbing a giant disk of half-transparent blackness at his opponent.  The demon tried to dodge, but the disk tracked the creature as it bounced off of the side of the still-fiery dome.  Flames licked at the demon’s shadowy limbs, and as it shied away from Rumplestiltskin’s next attack, the disk caught up with it.  Almost ten feet in diameter, and shimmering darkly, the disk sliced straight through the demon’s midsection like a giant saw blade.

“Finally,” Rumplestiltskin muttered, watching with satisfaction as the demon hissed sharply in pain—and as the disk cut it right in half.  That damage wouldn’t last, he knew, but one look at the expression in the burning red eyes showed that Rumplestiltskin’s actions _had_ clearly infuriated the demon beyond rationality.

Wild magic shot off of the demon as it writhed and snarled, firing off in all directions and filling the dome with red, purple, black, and blue fireworks of power.  Throwing up a strong shield, Rumplestiltskin struggled to weather the storm without draining himself dry.  Pain ripped through his body, and he almost fell, the coward always inside him wanting to break and flee.  But even that coward had always fought to protect those he loved, and if Rumplestiltskin faltered now, the demon _would_ go after Henry.  So, Rumplestiltskin gritted his teeth and stood his ground, feeling the storm tear open deep gashes on his face, left side, and right calf.  But it could have been so much worse had he not gotten a shield up in time.  The demon, after all, had no such options.

Writhing senselessly, the demon twitched and shuddered as it struggled to reassemble.  Rumplestiltskin did not give it the time, however; in the first tiny lessening of the storm raging around him, the Dark One flung another disk at his opponent.  This one glowed red and spat fire, spinning madly.  It was showy and dangerous, and the upper and lower halves of the demon both dodged this disk desperately.  But it couldn’t afford the third one, which shined softly with pale blue light, slipping quietly beneath the demon’s defenses.  This spell was more refined magic, and less pure darkness, than its predecessor.  Striking right between the demon’s discordant halves, it exploded viciously, actively draining strength away from the creature and eating at its shadowy limbs.

The demon _was_ darkness, after all, even more so than Rumplestiltskin. Light magic and light souls fed it and would have only loaned it strength at this point, but a careful balance of light and dark could cause grievous harm.  And it did.  The demon hissed and howled again, corkscrewing in the air and doubling its struggle to reunite its battered parts. Again, it lashed out wildly, spraying black ooze everywhere. 

“Look out!” a voice from the crowd cried, and Rumplestiltskin thought it was Henry. 

But his grandson’s warning was unnecessary; Rumplestiltskin was already trying to dodge.  Unfortunately, teleporting was useless.  The ooze flew in every direction, and a large glob hit him in his already wounded left side, exactly where the storm had ripped into him.  Too late, he realized that the ooze was identical to that which he had encountered within the Vault of the Dark One.  It burned where it hit, eating away clothes and flesh, leaving his side torn and bloody.  However, now that he had identified the threat, Rumplestiltskin knew how to use it, too.  He couldn’t do a thing about the way the ooze—pure and liquefied darkness—ate at him, nor could he hold back his own strangled cry of pain.  But even as he staggered drunkenly and cried out, his hands still came up smartly, reflecting the second wave of ooze towards the demon.  That ooze could damage every Dark One in the Vault—and it had—so it could hurt his opponent, too.

Risking a glance at Henry, Rumplestiltskin felt worry for the lad help push back the horrible memories of his time inside the Vault.  Fortunately, Henry was still safe, standing between Belle and Emma and watching the battle worriedly.

Then the ooze slammed into the demon, and Rumplestiltskin’s head snapped back around.  The earsplitting screech the shadow creature let out when the ooze struck its chest was fierce enough to make several people in the still-growing crowd stumble back a few steps.  Gritting his teeth against his own rising pain—his side was burning and he was growing dizzier by the moment—Rumplestiltskin stood back and watched the demon rage.  He couldn’t afford to wait long, but the more power he bled from the demon, the better chance he had.

“Don’t ignore me just yet,” he told the sputtering shadow, his voice tight with pain.  “I’m far from done with you.”

More ooze sailed his way, but Rumplestiltskin countered that with another fiery disk, most of which struck the demon.  A little ooze splashed on Rumplestiltskin’s extended right arm at the same time, and he staggered, stumbling and fighting to shake off the searing pain. The world spun hard and fast, almost tearing him right off his feet, and he felt like his arm was going to burn right off.  Gasping and reeling, Rumplestiltskin barely caught himself, pouring more magic into keeping himself functioning that could ever be safe.  The demon tried to laugh, but Rumplestiltskin’s last attack had caused it to lose control of its lower body, which had started to wander off to the left.  Twisting to follow its legs, the demon tried again to reunite itself, but to no avail.  It was time.

Slowly, watching it bend and struggle, Rumplestiltskin reached inside the left front pocket of his trousers.  Teleporting in something from outside the dome was impossible, so he’d had to bring the bottle of True Love in with him before the fight.  Yet it felt fragile in his hand, and Rumplestiltskin cursed himself as a fool.  What would he have done if the vial had broken?  He doubted that there remained enough goodness in his heart to slay the demon without the True Love potion.  Love though he might, Rumplestiltskin would always be the Dark One, and there would always be a great darkness within his soul.  Doing what he planned would be difficult enough. 

“Yooou cannot kill meeee,” the demon hissed, barely pausing to shoot Rumplestiltskin a contemptuous glance, ignoring the glowing purple vial he held.   “But I can killll yooou, Dark Onnnne.”

Well, wasn’t that an interesting fact? Still, Rumplestiltskin didn’t doubt that.  He just smiled.

“Clearly, you don’t know me very well,” he replied with a shrug. 

Shifting the bottle to his right hand and watching the demon finally manage to maneuver its upper body over its disconnected legs, Rumplestiltskin meticulously rolled the right sleeve of his dress shirt up to the elbow, pushing his dizziness aside to do so.  His head was spinning, but he did not have to hold on much longer.  Skin was a better magical conductor than cloth, so once his forearm was exposed, Rumplestiltskin carefully poured half of the vial of True Love over his arm, making sure to coat both sides.  He’d expected the potion to burn at least a little, particularly in his scorched skin on his arm, but instead it was warm and sweet, smelling faintly of roses and leather.  The potion even eased his aches just a little, helped him focus a tiny bit better.  However, there was no time to contemplate the intricacies of a True Love potion, even though the demon was ignoring him.  _At least the potion might buy me time to finish this,_ Rumplestiltskin thought.  He needed all the help he could get at the moment.

Pouring the last half of the potion into the palm of his right hand, Rumplestiltskin stepped forward, raising his left hand as he did so and wrapping a thick rope of magic around the demon.  It broke free—as he’d expected—but, red eyes flashing furiously, the demon hissed a wordless challenge.  Rushing towards the Dark One, clearly fed up with the fight now that its two halves had been reunited, the demon missed the juicy target of a True Love potion in its rage.  But that was just fine with Rumplestiltskin. He had never intended for his opponent to _eat_ his arm, after all.  No, his intentions were far more direct than that.

Magic slammed into him, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t dare throw up a shield in case he inadvertently used the True Love coating his hand in doing so.  The blow made him miss a step and actually blacked out his vision for a moment, causing Rumplestiltskin to stumble precariously.  Distantly, he heard Belle scream his name, but there was no time to check even once his vision cleared.    The demon had closed the distance between them to nothing, and there was no time to hesitate.  So, Rumplestiltskin took one unsteady step forward and shoved his True Love-coated hand right into his opponent’s chest.

Demons were not fully corporal creatures, but the more damaged they were, the more solid each became.  And this one was hardly its normal shadowy self, which meant Rumplestiltskin’s hand immediately closed around the demon’s beating black heart.  He’d known that he would have to trap the demon to weaken it, had known that he would have to go blow for blow with this original demonic power in order to hurt it enough.  But this had always been Rumplestiltskin’s end goal, so he tore the heart out with a massive heave, pulling hard to overcome the intrinsic resistance.  Two painful seconds passed, but then Rumplestiltskin was able to stagger back with the heart in his hand, reeling from the force of his own effort.  Immediately, the demon moved to attack him, but Rumplestiltskin _squeezed._

Just inches away from his face, the demon crumbled into wispy dust even as Rumplestiltskin twitched his fingers to clean the heart powder off of his hand.  It was done.  He’d kept his promise, and Henry and Belle were safe.  So were the others the demon would have targeted—Emma, Snow, Aurora, and dozens more—but they hadn’t been who he was fighting for.  None of them had ever cared about him, and Rumplestiltskin really didn’t give much of a damn about what happened to them.  His wife and his grandson mattered.

Swaying precariously as fatigue and pain caught up with him, Rumplestiltskin shuffled over to where the dagger still stuck out of the street.  He needed three tries to pull it free as his vision danced wildly, but Rumplestiltskin finally straightened with the dagger in his hand, turning dizzily to face the crowds as the dome collapsed.  He barely noticed when the short wall of fire that marked the bottom of the shield vanished, and even as he tried to pick Belle out of the crowd, all the faces started to blur together.  Then the world tipped off its axis, and sudden agony blossomed in his back.

Several moments passed before Rumplestiltskin realized that he had fallen.  By then, Belle was there, cradling his head in one hand and taking his free hand in her own.

“Rumple?” she asked worriedly, but his name had to echo in his ears several times before it sank in.

“Done,” he whispered, trying to grip the dagger tightly but unsure where it went.  Rumplestiltskin meant to say more, but suddenly the world went dark.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes slid shut, and Belle’s heart caught in her throat.  _No, no, no, no, no, no!_   She’d truly lost him once, the last time Rumplestiltskin had saved the entire down, and she was _not_ going to lose him again.  Having driven him out seemed so much more foolish, now, particularly after watching how far he would go to protect those he loved.  _Calm down, Belle!_ she told herself firmly.  He was still breathing raggedly.  He wasn’t dead.  But Rumplestiltskin’s face was deathly pale, with deep scratches marring his left cheek.  Those were nothing compared to the literal gouges all along his left side, or the way his right arm was torn open.  He was bleeding pretty badly, too, with a growing pool of dark red liquid staining the asphalt street beneath his upper body alarmingly fast. 

Immediately, Hook’s words from earlier that day came back to her.  _“Maybe the Dark One and the demon will kill one another, and you’ll finally be free of him.”_   Belle felt sick.  What if that could happen?  That demon had been an original power, born at the dawn of magic itself.  Might that trump the need for the dagger in order to kill the Dark One?  Even Rumplestiltskin’s power was not like that.

The dagger.

Belle’s head snapped up so quickly that her neck cracked.  Rumplestiltskin had fallen while holding the dagger, and the entire _reason_ Belle had convinced him not to try to whisk her away to somewhere safe was so that she could help him keep the dagger safe.  Part of her was still amazed that he would trust her with it after what she had done, but he _did_ trust her, and she’d been so distracted by Rumplestiltskin passing out that she might have—

“Henry, what are you doing?” Emma’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and Belle turned her head to see Rumplestiltskin’s grandson picking up the dagger, which had fallen out of Rumplestiltskin’s hand and lay at the Dark One’s side on Main Street. 

Emma, Charming, and Hook emerged from the crowd as the Savior spoke.  Nearly everyone else was backing away, seemingly happy to go back to their business now that the demon was dealt with.  Granny, Leroy, and a few of the other dwarves lingered, however, watching the scene with interest.  For a moment, Belle was reminded of the day Rumplestiltskin killed Pan, how everyone had clumped around Regina, focusing on her pain after Emma and Henry left, and how no one but her and Bae shed a tear for Rumplestiltskin.  Or even mentioned his sacrifice.  He’d saved them again.  Would they forget this time, too?

“Giving this to Belle so that she can give it back to Grandpa,” Henry answered his birth mother levelly, and then held the dagger out to Belle with a small smile.

“Thank you, Henry,” she said softly, relief making her throat tight.  He really was his father’s son, Henry was, and this would mean the world to Rumple once she told him about it.  But before her fingers could close around the hilt, Hook spoke up:

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea, lad,” the pirate said hesitantly.

“He just saved _everyone_!” Henry objected heatedly, but Hook shrugged.

“That doesn’t make him trustworthy. He’s regressed before—”

“How _dare_ you?” Belle cut in coldly, feeling fire rear up in her gut as she accepted the dagger from her step-grandson, clutching it tightly.  “ _You_ have no right to talk about being trustworthy!  I gave you this because you said you’d _changed_ , and then you laughed while Rumplestiltskin begged for my life.  You’re no better than he is.  At least Rumple doesn’t pretend to care about everyone else.”

“I didn’t mean for it to go so far,” Hook objected, sounding a little broken.  Belle was too angry to care, though.  Rumplestiltskin had told her about how the dagger could drag someone towards darkness, how it would drive someone to fulfill their darkest desires, but Belle couldn’t find much pity for Hook within herself.  For the dagger to have influenced him so, he must have _wanted_ her dead, even if he’d never meant to act on those desires.

“And now you get to live with that,” she snapped in response, and then turned away from the pirate, looking down at her still-unconscious husband.  She could command him to wake with the dagger, couldn’t she?  It might not be very good for his health, but she knew how much Rumple hated appearing weak in front of people.  _Particularly these people._   If she woke him up, he could heal himself at home, and –

“Can you help him, Mom?” Henry suddenly asked, crouching opposite Belle on Rumplestiltskin’s other side.

“I…I don’t know, Henry,” Emma replied, sounding uneasy.  Rumplestiltskin had shown her healing just that morning.  Did she lack confidence in her magic, or was she hesitating for other reasons?  Belle was afraid to ask.

“Please?  He’s bleeding badly,” Henry pointed out, and even as Belle looked up at the Savior, Emma started to nod.  Hook, however, spoke up again.

“Emma, love, I know you’re angry at me, and you’ve every right to be.  What I did was wrong.  But look at this logically.  If he dies, we rid the world of a terrible curse.  Grieve for Rumplestiltskin if you must, but the Dark One can and should be destroyed.”

“But he’ll die!” the Dark One’s grandson burst out, glaring at the pirate.

“That might be best for everyone,” Leroy put in, having wandered up to stand near Charming.  “Especially Belle.”

“You don’t get to speak for me, Grumpy,” Belle glared at the dwarf who had once been her friend, and who had once said it would be better if her husband died out in the world she’d abandoned him to. 

“I’m speaking for everyone, sister.  Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the good of all,” the dwarf retorted as Granny nodded in agreement, and Belle wanted to snort.   But she was too worried to say something angry.  Destroying the curse of the Dark One was the one argument that the heroes might listen to, and Belle found herself shifting her grip on the dagger, preparing to use it to wake him.  But Charming got in before she could say a word.

“No.  Belle was right,” the prince said strongly.  “We call Rumplestiltskin family only when it’s useful to us.  It’s time we started acting like he is.”  A beat passed, and then Charming added: “ _Can_ you help him, Emma?”

“I can try,” the Savior replied, dropping into a crouch next to Henry, looking grim and focused.  She turned to Belle.  “Help me get his shirt off, will you?  I need to see these wounds.”

“Right.”  Rumple would hate it, but the worst injuries were still hidden by his half-shredded dress shirt.  Hesitating a moment, Belle contemplated putting the dagger in her purse, but she couldn’t be sure someone wouldn’t steal it from there.  So, she handed it back to Henry. “Keep this safe?”

“I will,” her step-grandson promised, and Belle gave him a tight smile.  Even if anyone in this town was brave enough to try to take the dagger away from Henry, Belle knew that he’d fight for his grandfather’s freedom.  Henry was a brave young man, and he _believed_ more strongly than anyone Belle had ever met.   

Quickly, she stripped Rumplestiltskin’s shirt off when Emma lifted him by the shoulders.  Much of it fell away without any effort on her part; the moment Belle had it unbuttoned, the left half of the shirt just kind of disintegrated.  Emma peeled away the remaining charred and ragged bits of cloth away, her hands already starting to glow a little blue.  Taking a deep breath, the Savior glanced up at Belle.

“I’m not exactly practiced at this.  I’ll try to stop the bleeding and then wake him up so he can do the rest.  Gold’s a _lot_ better at this than I am.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Belle said, dredging up a smile to reassure Emma.  “He’s been doing this a long time.”  She glanced down at her husband, who was breathing shallowly but steadily, still bleeding heavily.  Now that Belle could see his torn-up and burnt side, it looked even worse, but she had to be glad Emma was willing to help.  “Thank you, by the way.”

“You guys really did patch things up, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Belle answered, shifting to put Rumple’s head in her lap.  “We both made mistakes, and we both hurt one another.  But True Love is worth fighting for, no matter what.”

“I guess it is,” Emma replied quietly, and then returned her focus to Rumplestiltskin before Belle could plead with her to do so.  Rumple was _still_ bleeding, and Belle was so worried.

Slowly, the Savior’s magic built up, her glowing hands hovering over the worst of the wounds in Rumplestiltskin’s side.  As Belle watched, the wounds inched shut, flesh knitting together jerkily.  Emma missed a few spots, clearly having to go back several times and make sure each wound—and there were so _many_ of them—stayed shut.  Some of them didn’t seem to want to, but Emma finally finished healing Rumplestiltskin’s side, even if a few of the new bright red lines continued to leak slightly.  Still, Emma moved on to the burns covering Rumplestiltskin’s right arm next, and Belle bit back the urge to tell her to work elsewhere.  She’d seen Rumple poor the True Love potion over his arm, and the burns already seemed less severe than they had before.  Belle had no doubt they were painful, but she was more worried about the ominous crack she had heard when Rumplestiltskin had collapsed to his knees earlier.  His right knee seemed horribly swollen, but Emma’s magic was probably telling her what the most dangerous injuries were.  Wasn’t it?

Emma worked in silence for several more minutes, closing wounds and repairing burns.  Rumplestiltskin’s breathing grew a little deeper and less ragged as she did so, and Belle finally felt him beginning to stir.  That seemed to jerk Emma up short, and the Savior suddenly leaned away from him, her back ramrod straight and expression wary.  But Emma didn’t rise, and even though Belle could feel a slight _something_ in the air, she was willing to bet that Emma felt the slight surge of magic much stronger than she did.  But nothing else happened, so Emma nodded, seemingly to herself, and lifted her hands once more.  Now she started clearing the blood away, cleaning off Rumple’s pale skin as the sharp red lines she’d left behind thinned down and became less noticeable.  Rumple’s ribs, however, _were_ very noticeable, sticking out against his skin like Belle had never seen them before.

 _He’s still too thin,_ Belle thought, and then wanted to smack herself.  Her husband had told her a little bit about his time in New York, about struggling to survive on only the cash he’d had in his wallet.  He’d not told her too much—clearly not wanting to make her feel guilty—though Belle fully intended to ask for more details later.  But she already knew that he hadn’t eaten enough, that it was only the addition of magic in Storybrooke that had restored him to health.  Belle had been a little afraid to ask how bad it had been, but she _would_ ; she had sent him away, and she needed to understand the consequences of her decision.

“Mom, what are those?” Henry suddenly asked from where he crouched to Emma’s right, still holding the dagger.

 _Oh, no._   Belle had been too caught up in her thoughts to notice what Emma cleaning away the blood and black ooze had revealed until Henry spoke up, but now her eyes flew immediately to the thin black lines wrapping around Rumplestiltskin’s torso.  Belle knew from her own experience—recently, for he’d hidden them from her in the early days of their marriage—that the scars started below his waist and snaked upwards, mostly going from his left hip towards his right shoulder.  They were jagged and only partially healed, but very obviously different from the wounds the demon’s magic had created.

“I don’t know,” Emma replied, frowning in confusion.  Her hands shifted, glowing an even brighter blue, to hover over the nastiest looking of the half-scarred over wounds.  Belle could see her frown deep as she concentrated, but after almost a minute of trying, Emma let out a heavy sigh.  “They won’t heal.”

“I, uh, don’t think you can fix them,” Belle said as diplomatically as she could, remembering lying in bed with Rumple that very morning and talking about those same wounds.  This she _knew_ her husband didn’t want to share, and Belle squeezed his hand desperately, hoping he’d sense that it was time to wake up.

“Why not?” Henry wondered, looking at Belle for the answer.

“Now’s not the time for that, Henry,” she said quietly, throwing him a pleading look as Charming, Hook, Granny, Leroy, and several others crept closer.  From further away, Belle could see Snow and Regina approaching, the latter learning heavily on her stepdaughter for balance.  But they were in earshot now, too, and Rumple _really_ wouldn’t want this discussed in public. 

Henry seemed to get the hint, but Emma kept frowning, and Belle could see her shifting her magical focus, trying something else.  Now her hands glowed pure white, and Emma flexed her fingers in the air, pushing magic down towards the toxic-looking black lines.  Several seconds ticked by, until, without warning, a hand snapped up to fasten around her wrist. 

Only then did Rumplestiltskin’s eyes fly open, and Belle could see pain shining out of the depth of those suddenly wide brown orbs.  “Stop,” he gasped, obviously unable to stop the word from escaping.

Fortunately, Emma did, yanking her hands away quickly.  “What _is_ that?” she demanded.

“Nothing you can heal,” Rumplestiltskin snapped, but the hand held in Belle’s shook ever so slightly.  She could tell when he _forced_ the trembling to stop, when he desperately regained iron-willed control of himself, but Belle could still feel the discomfort radiating off of him.  He started to sit up, and then muscles failed, and Belle wound up catching her husband before he could collapse.

“Give it a moment, please?” she pleaded quietly, moving her free hand to Rumplestiltskin’s shoulder.  For a moment, his eyes met hers, wide and slightly panicked, but Belle squeezed his shoulder and his hand and she could feel him calm down.  A little.  He released Emma’s wrist like it was poisonous, his left hand falling weakly to his side.

Rumplestiltskin nodded jerkily, but the way she was sitting with his head in her lap meant Belle could feel him drawing on his magic like armor.  _“I’ve never felt safe without it,”_ he had admitted to her not too long ago, and looking at the crowd gathering around them like vultures, she began to understand why.  There were times when Belle felt that Storybrooke’s residents were entitled to look askance at her husband; he didn’t always help, and sometimes his motives were far from beneficial to everyone.  He had just saved them all—again—without asking for anything in return.  Yet they were still staring at him like he was some sort of monster.

And Rumplestiltskin was afraid of them. Belle hadn’t really realized that before she exiled him, hadn’t ever understood how much he needed his magic to make him feel safe from people who feared him as much as he feared them.  Perhaps he hadn’t been so afraid before Zelena got the dagger, but now that they had seen how he could be controlled, caged, and humiliated.  The thought of that happening again utterly _terrified_ him, and Belle could feel him battling that very fear now.  Belle squeezed his shoulder gently, but that only seemed to make Rumple realize that both her hands were empty, and he shot her a look that was full of panic.

“Here, Grandpa,” Henry spoke up, obviously seeing the glance and interpreting it correctly.  Much though Belle wished that his skills at observation hadn’t made him notice the older scars, she was glad for it now.  Henry held the dagger out to his grandfather.  “This is yours.”

“Thank you, Henry,” Rumplestiltskin said softly, and Belle watched the panic recede as he accepted the dagger.  His knuckles might have been white as he gripped it tightly, but clearly having the dagger back under his control calmed Rumplestiltskin down.

Of course, Emma had to speak up. 

“What _are_ those marks, Gold?” the Savior asked, just as Rumplestiltskin started trying to sit up once more, and Belle felt her husband tense all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authorial Plea for Votes: this story has been nominated for Best Fix-It in The Espenson Awards on Tumblr. Voting ends on the 7th, and if anyone is willing to vote for it (or for me as Best Author) I would be incredibly grateful! If you’re interested, you can go to theespensonawards on tumblr. If you’re interested in voting for any of my other stories, two others are on there as well, both “Original Powers” and “Freeze on the Stones”. Again, thank you for all the nominations – I feel honored to be included in a group of such amazing stories and authors!
> 
> The Real Author’s Note: So, this will probably be a one update week, thanks to real life. BUT – here’s a question for you in the meantime. I’m torn on the ending of this story, so I’ll leave it up to you. **What do you think Hook’s fate should be?** Should Emma take him back (albeit with some issues to work out), or should she kick him to the curb? Let me know in your comment!


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay – this chapter took much longer than I expected to write, but in payment for your patience, it’s over 14,000 words!

“What _are_ those marks, Gold?” the Savior asked, and Rumplestiltskin froze.

He hadn’t asked her to heal him.  He hadn’t wanted anyone to _see._   Letting Belle know about the not-quite-healed wounds—even more than three months later—had been hard enough.  He’d used magic to cover them every time Belle had a chance of seeing them until the night before, and forcing himself to trust her that much had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, including admitting that Zelena had raped him.  But now, knowing that all these people, Storybrooke’s ‘beloved heroes’, could see the blackened half-scars, half-wounds Zelena had caused, almost made his breathing stop.  Belle was still holding his hand, still squeezing his shoulder, and her hands were the only things rooting him to sanity.  He just wanted to sink into the ground and hide.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Rumplestiltskin sat up, funneling magic into his worn-out body.  He’d pay for that later, would probably be stuck in bed for hours at least, but it was worth it not to display any kind of weakness in front of these people.  _Bad enough that my shirt is in burned up pieces on the ground beside me,_ he thought acidly, feeling Belle’s wordless support as her hand shifted from his shoulder to his back to help steady him.  _I will_ not _let them think me weak._

“None of your business, dearie,” he answered Emma before she could ask him a second time.  “Nothing you can heal.”

That made the Savior scowl, and Rumplestiltskin tried to shrug off her steady gaze.  Henry’s was harder, because he really did care what the lad thought, and his grandson looked worried.  Emma, however, was the one who demanded: “Why not?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rumplestiltskin snapped before he could stop himself, and then forced himself to take a deep breath.  _Distract them.  Change the subject_.  So, he added:  “I do owe you thanks for healing me.  I…appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” Emma replied, sounding a little taken aback.  Her expression annoyed Rumplestiltskin a little, despite his nervousness; he’d never had a problem expressing gratitude, so why did people look surprised when he was polite enough to say thank you?

“Those wounds were caused by magic,” Regina spoke up, and Rumplestiltskin could have killed her. There’d been a time when his star pupil wouldn’t have volunteered such information in front of the Charmings, but now she was trying so hard to be one of them, to be included in the little party of heroes, and that meant she was now much less restrained.

“Go to the head of the class,” Rumplestiltskin replied dryly, rolling his eyes to hide his discomfort.  _Why_ did she have to butt in like this?  If Regina thought she was trying to help, she was _so_ far from doing so.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home.  The demon’s dead.  Your problem is solved.”

The last bit was directed at the Charmings, particularly Charming himself, who had led the little group who had come to demand Belle _force_ him to kill that demon.  Instead, Rumplestiltskin had done so of his own volition, and he felt like he’d been run over by a Mack truck after doing so.  Even with the magic rolling through his veins and the way it could sustain him for quite some time—particularly after Emma had healed him—Rumplestiltskin was still in too much pain to mitigate the _older_ pain the way he had every day he had magic to do so.  Colors were starting to merge, no matter how hard he forced himself to focus, and he really just wanted to get away from these people.  The thought of using magic to conjure himself up a new shirt occurred to him, but Rumplestiltskin knew that might actually make him pass out, so that was hardly an option.  _Time to leave, then._

Thinking like that made him glance down at his left hand, where the dagger was gripped tightly.  Too tightly, maybe; his knuckles were white for anyone to see, but Rumplestiltskin couldn’t bring himself to care right now.  Ever since Henry had given it back to him, Rumplestiltskin had gripped that dagger like it was a lifeline, because it _was_.  The dagger was his freedom, and since he’d promised he wasn’t going to try to use the hat again—and knew that if he did so, he’d likely lose everything that was important to him—keeping the dagger safe was the only way to preserve his own free will.

“If the wounds are magic in nature, why can’t they be healed?” Emma spoke up, ignoring his comment about wanting to go home.  _Probably because I’m still sitting here on the ground, trying to decide if I can get up without falling back down._

They weren’t going to let it go, and he was too tired to fight with them.  For a moment, Rumplestiltskin contemplating teleporting himself and Belle away, taking them back home and away from these nosy heroes, but even the thought of using that kind of advanced magic made his head spin wildly.

“Because I’m the Dark One,” Rumplestiltskin snarled, worn out enough to be honest.  “Wounds made with the dagger on me _can’t_ be healed.”

“With the…?” Emma trailed off, and then her eyes went wide.  She was a smart girl, and was obviously getting there quickly enough.

So was Regina, judging from the quiet noise of shock she made.

“Who could do that to you?” Snow spoke up for the first time, still supporting Regina.  Rumplestiltskin’s old student looked unsteady on her feet, and if she thought _she_ felt bad, he didn’t want to think about how he felt.  He’d lost more blood than he’d meant to, and was just so damned exhausted.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t Belle,” he retorted, rolling his eyes again and immediately regretting the motion.  It made his head feel like someone was pounding nails into his skull.

 “Zelena?” Charming guessed the answer his daughter and Regina had already arrived at.  Rumplestiltskin wanted to meet his gaze, wanted to brazen this through and pretend that it didn’t matter, but he found himself looking away.

Had Belle’s hands not tightened on him, Rumplestiltskin might have fled, might have teleported himself away despite what a bad idea he knew doing so was.  He couldn’t even focus well enough to mitigate the pain from those old dagger wounds, and Rumplestiltskin knew he’d probably not make it to his destination, yet he still wanted to run away.  _I’m still a coward,_ he thought exhaustedly, feeling himself shake.  They were all waiting for an answer, this curious and accusing crowd surrounding him, and he had nothing.  What could he say that wouldn’t be akin to admitting how badly Zelena had abused him?

“Let’s get you up,” Belle whispered softly, and Rumplestiltskin seized the opportunity to do something other than answer Charming’s question.  He allowed his wife to help him to his feet, feeling his right kneecap—why was it _always_ his right leg?—protesting the sudden usage.  It responded, though, still held together by the spell he’d cast earlier.  That wouldn’t last too long, but it should get him home, albeit limping.  Still, he had to lean heavily on Belle, which he hated, even if that gave him an excuse to stand closer to the woman who had always been his strength.

“Gold?” Charming asked, sounding concerned.  “Did Zelena do that to you?”

The worry in the prince’s voice finally gave Rumplestiltskin the courage—and the fury—to turn and face Charming.  “What do you care?” he snapped.  “Don’t pretend it matters to you.  It doesn’t now, and it didn’t then.”

Had he hit David in the face with a fireball, he probably would have looked less shocked.  And was that _hurt_ in Charming’s eyes? How ludicrous. 

Snow, however, rather inevitably jumped to her husband’s side, at least metaphorically speaking.  The princess’ voice was damnably gentle, and she looked utterly horrified, with wide eyes and an upset expression.  “She hurt you?”

“Don’t look so surprised, dearie,” he said before could stop himself, his voice growing sharper with each word.  “Zelena was willing to sacrifice your newborn son to make her plans work.  What makes you think she had any kind of moral values that would stop her from punishing her _slave_ as she saw fit?”

“Rumple,” Belle whispered, and for once she wasn’t trying to stop him, or at least not for anyone’s sake save his own.  But he was so damn tired and hurting _so_ much; Rumplestiltskin’s normal defenses, the walls that kept his demons buried where no one could see them, were as shredded as his abandoned shirt. 

They wanted to know?  _Fine._   Let them know.  Let them look at the truth and wrap their perfect little world around _that_.  These little heroes had been so shocked when he’d wanted to kill Zelena, because wanting to avenge his beloved son was not reason enough for them.  Well, let them know this.  He was done shielding them from the nastier parts of the truth.

But even thinking about that made memories rear up, made Rumplestiltskin remember Zelena’s hands and Zelena’s touch, to remember the humiliation and the pain and the utter inability to resist.  He shuddered, and maybe even flinched; his exhausted mind wanted to tip right off the edge and lose itself in soul-crushing memories.  And it would have, had Belle’s presence not still been warm and comforting next to him.  Sensing his unease, she reached out to take the hand opposite the side that was still leaning against him.  Her touch helped push back the worst of the demons, and Rumplestiltskin let out a shuddering breath, forcing himself to focus—and to open the eyes he hadn’t known he’d shut—and look out at the damn heroes once more.

At least none of them knew the worst of it.  He’d be damned if he’d ever let them know about that.  Telling Belle had been bad enough.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ anyone?” Snow asked, looking mortified.

It was just too much, despite Belle’s reassuring presence at his side.  “And when was I supposed to do that?” Rumplestiltskin retorted angrily.  “When you were all busy happily leaving me in my cage, happy that I was out of the way and only worried about what uses Zelena might put me to?  Or perhaps afterwards, when you all decided it was _safer_ if I was controlled?”

“Based on what we knew—” Charming tried to say, but Rumplestiltskin cut him off.

“Based on _what_?” he snarled.  “On me killing Pan?  On our alliance in Neverland?  Because, yes, I was so terrible a danger to you before I died.”  Belle’s hand squeezed his tightly, and Rumplestiltskin reined in his temper with an effort.  Only then did he feel his magic responding to his emotions, swirling around him exhaustedly but dangerously.  Sucking in a ragged breath, he forced the magic back, clinging doggedly to self-control.  When he spoke again, his voice was more level, soft and acidic.  “Let’s not pretend any of you—excluding Belle—have ever cared about me.  I’m the Dark One.  I’m _dangerous._ You don’t care that someone locked me in a cage—having done it yourself—and you certainly don’t care that Zelena had her fun with me.  So don’t bother pretending.”

“We _aren’t_ pretending,” Snow snapped back.  “It matters.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “Just like Zelena killing my son mattered.  Had it been Henry, you lot would have lined up to kill her.  But because it was Bae, you didn’t care.”

“That’s not fair,” Emma interjected softly, and Rumplestiltskin was suddenly seized by the memory of her crying over his son’s body.  He blinked back emotion.

“Not to you, no,” he admitted roughly, giving the Savior a half-shrug as Belle shifted closer to him.  She nodded in response, and for once, they seemed to understand one another.

Of course, her father took the opportunity to jump into the conversation.  “Belle was right in what she said earlier,” Charming said, wearing the expression of a man who was facing his own mistakes and not liking what he saw.  “We never thought of it.  We just looked at you as the Dark One and never saw beyond that.”

“I never _wanted_ you to,” Rumplestiltskin admitted.  That much raw honesty deserved some in return.  Besides, the truth was out there, now.  They knew that Zelena had hurt him, tortured him, knew that he was more human than he’d ever wanted any of them to know.  Oh, he’d wanted them to acknowledge the fact that he was an individual with _choices_ , but Rumplestiltskin had never wanted them to see his weaknesses, either.

Now they had. 

“I’m sorry,” Regina said abruptly.  “I didn’t… _think_ when I kept the dagger.  I just…”

“I know,” he replied quietly, not wanting to admit to her that, although her apology meant far more to him than the Charmings’ sudden compassion, he wasn’t quite ready to forgive her.  Not quite.  Someday, however, Rumplestiltskin knew he would.

 Just not today.

“If there’s anything we can—”

“Not today,” Belle cut Snow’s attempt at offering help off.  “For now, I’m going to get Rumple home.  He killed the demon for you.  Surely that’s enough for today.”

He might have kissed her had he not been so dizzy; magic was holding him together, but even magic had its limits.  Besides, he’d pay the price for that soon enough.  Rumplestiltskin could feel the price lurking in the back of his mind, ready to knock him down. _Not yet,_ he told himself.  _Soon._

“Of course it is,” Regina got in before anyone else could say something, throwing the other heroes a look.  And then Leroy spoke up.

“Someone should—” the dwarf started, only to cut off when Belle gave him a more furious look than Rumplestiltskin had ever seen out of her. 

They’d been friends, once, he knew.  Were they still?

“Someone should go with you.  Make sure you get home okay,” Leroy finished lamely, and there wasn’t a single person in the crowd who thought he hadn’t originally intended to say that someone should take the dagger while Rumplestiltskin was weak.  Belle, however, gave him a sweet smile that said she knew _exactly_ what he’d intended.

“That’s a great idea.  Henry, do you want to come along?” his wife asked brilliantly.

A huge smile split Henry’s face.  “Sure!  I’ll call you later, Mom.  And Mom,” he said to both Regina and Emma, who exchanged unreadable glances.

“Can you use magic to take us there?” Belle asked quietly, and Rumplestiltskin shook his head.

“Bad idea.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing the car is at the shop.  I’ll drive,” she said, and Rumplestiltskin could only nod tiredly.

Together, Belle and Henry got him to the Cadillac and then into the pink house.  By then, Rumplestiltskin was limping pretty badly, the magic that held his injured leg together collapsing along with the rest of his ability to keep himself upright. Somehow—he never could quite remember how—the pair got him into bed, and Rumplestiltskin drifted off to sleep with the knowledge that his wife and his grandson were there.

* * *

 

Gold, Belle, and Henry disappeared into Gold’s Cadillac, and Emma heaved a sigh of relief once they were gone.   The demon was dead, the town was safe…and now she got to deal with the aftermath.  For the moment, she didn’t even want to think about what they’d learned about Gold or what that meant.  What really counted was that he was kind-of-sort-of-mostly on their side again, either because of Henry or for his own reasons.  While Emma wasn’t necessarily going to trust Gold not to go on some crazy power trip once more, Belle _did_ have a point—trying to suck up everyone’s magic really was not in character for him.   So, the likelihood of Gold going off the deep end again was low.

For the moment.

Unfortunately, the fact that the crisis had passed meant that Emma now had to face her other problem, the one she had absolutely _no_ idea what to do with.  An uber-powerful demon trying to destroy the town?  Easy.  Emma knew what to do with that.  Killian Jones, having tried to kill Belle and make Gold watch and suffer, but who claimed not to know _why_ he’d done that?  Emma had no idea what to do.

The damnable thing about it all was that she still had feelings for him, and she _shouldn’t_.  Not if this was the kind of man he was going to be.  Oh, Emma had known he was a pirate, had known Killian had done some terrible things.  And yet…she’d thought he was past that.  She’d thought he was trying to be better.  He’d apologized to Belle, and had worked with the librarian countless times since then without ever seeming to want to harm her.  This had come straight out of the blue, and Emma didn’t know how to deal with it.  He’d tried to kill an innocent woman, and had ignored her begging husband to do it while he gloated.  Seeing that had made Emma wonder about a lot of things, and yet it wouldn’t hurt so much if she hadn’t cared about Killian the way she did.

Why did she _always_ fall for the wrong kind of guy?  At least Neal had never stolen anything worse than a car.  Killian…she didn’t know what to think of Killian now.

“Emma, please, a word?” Killian said quietly, approaching her as cautiously as he would a wounded animal. 

Sighing, she turned to face him.  Emma couldn’t avoid this conversation any longer.  The threat was gone, and she owed Killian that much.  “Okay,” she said slowly, crossing her arms. “Go ahead.”

“I…” Now that he had her attention, Killian didn’t seem to know what to say.  But he finally squared his shoulders and continued: “I never meant for it to go so far.  Yes, I want—wanted—revenge against Rumplestiltskin for stealing my heart and making me do his bidding.  I wanted to make him suffer for the way he tried to suck you into the hat.  But I…I don’t know what got into me.  I didn’t mean for things to happen that way.  I truly did not.   At the time, it felt so easy, and now it feels terrible.”

Hearing such genuine emotion in his voice—and regret, interestingly enough—only made this harder.  Emma sighed.

“Are you going to blame this on some cursed hand again?” she asked testily, remembering how Killian had told her that he’d worked a deal with Gold for the return of his hand, and that Gold had cursed it somehow.  Yet there was no way Gold had done that this time—not with Belle on the line.  The bastard was cold-blooded, and obviously didn’t mind _lying_ to his wife, but Emma knew that he’d never endanger her.  Particularly not when someone else had his dagger.

“I wish I knew,” Killian replied with a helpless shrug.

“I don’t think why really matters,” Emma said after a moment, crossing her arms tightly against her chest.  She felt cold, so cold.  She’d started to trust again, and look where it had gotten her.  She should reserve her love for her family, for Henry.  At least that wouldn’t hurt so much.

“Emma—”

“You were going to let her die,” she cut him off, her voice hard.  “After telling me _so many times_ that your killing days were behind you.   How I’d made you want to be a better man.  You told me that you’d _changed_.”  Emma spat the last word out, letting her heartbreak out, just for a moment.  Then an ironic smile twisted up her lips.  “You gonna try to kill Belle again?  Because something tells me Gold’s truce won’t hold up for that.”

“No!  Of course not!”

“Really?  You’ve said that before,” she reminded him mercilessly, watching his expression, just like she’d watched him gloat over a bleeding Belle.  “In fact, you’ve been playing the don’t-trust-Rumplestiltskin card all day long, and he’s the one who just killed that demon.  And the one who said he won’t kill _you_ , even though you tried to kill his wife.  Let me tell you, Killian, you’re not the one who’s come out of this smelling like roses.”

“He tried to suck you into the hat!” the pirate objected furiously.

“And that’s _my_ problem!” Emma snapped back, stepping forward to poke a finger into his chest.  “If anyone is going to get revenge for that, Killian Jones, it’s going to be _me._ I’m not some damsel in distress that needs saving, and I sure as hell never asked you to be some knight in shining armor!  You don’t get to use _me_ as an excuse for revenge, you understand that?”

Blinking and looking taken aback, Killian nodded.  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“It’s not me you owe an apology to,” she retorted, coming down off of her anger but not quite able to forgive him.  Not yet.  Emma wanted to, and she knew that real love needed to be fought for, and yet…

“I’ll do whatever I it takes to prove to you that I really have changed.  I made a mistake, love, but that _isn’t_ me,” he swore.  “Tell me what I have to do to earn your love back.”

Had Killian listed the ways he’d tried to help against the demon—none of which had escaped Emma’s notice—she would have shut him down then and there, not caring that he’d done it for self-serving reasons.  But he hadn’t.  And he _sounded_ like he meant that.  But how far was he willing to go?

“Put this insane quest for revenge behind you for good,” Emma replied immediately, and watched him wince.  “Gold’s called a truce, and _you’re_ going to do better.  He’s our ally; so are you.  You put it aside forever.  You apologize to him _and_ to Belle.  And you _mean_ it.”

“Emma…” his whisper sounded more than a little terrified.

“Take it or leave it.  You asked me what it’ll take for me to believe you; that’s what it is.  Otherwise, all your talk of change is meaningless.”

Their eyes met, and he looked distraught enough that Emma burned to reach out and take his hand.  But Killian had to do this for himself; not for her, but for _himself_.  If he wanted to be a better man, he had to act like it.  She wouldn’t go with him.  She wouldn’t spy on him.  He could do it or not, and that would be that.  And then they’d figure out where to go from there.  But he had to show remorse—not just for what he’d done to Belle this time, but also for the other misdeeds they’d all swept under the rug when Killian had convinced them he’d changed.  He’d tortured Archie, tried to kill Belle two other times, blackmailed Rumplestiltskin, and allied with first Cora and then the Home Office. 

“That apology isn’t a carte blanche, by the way. That’s what’ll convince me that you mean it, but not a promise that everything will go back to the way it was,” Emma warned him.  “I’m not saying I don’t still have feelings for you, because I _do_ , but I’m not going to date a man who goes around murdering innocent women, either.  Or one who doesn’t show remorse for _any_ of the things you’ve done.  So you either do it or don’t, and then we’ll talk about the future.

She wanted him back, but she wasn’t going to lower her standards to get him.  Not now, and not ever.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin had fallen asleep almost as soon as they got him into bed, barely managing to murmur a thanks to Belle and Henry before doing so.   They sat with him for several long moments, watching his breathing steady out and his body slowly relax.  Slowly, Belle reached out to take the dagger from his unresisting fingers and place it on the nightstand; it was not the safest place for it, but Rumplestiltskin would want to hide the dagger himself after he woke up.  After all, whomever put the dagger in hiding had control of it, and neither of them wanted to risk that.  _Rumple was never so dangerous when he had control of himself.  Now I just have to convince him that he can trust at least_ some _people to help him preserve his freedom._

“Is he going to be okay, Belle?” Henry whispered, looking so very young.

Belle turned to him, looking at the concern in Bae’s son’s face, and realizing, not for the first time, how very much he looked like his father.  But those warm brown eyes were all Rumple’s, complete with the crease that formed between them when he was worried.  Noticing that put a slight smile on her face, despite the knot in her own throat.

“He’s tougher than he looks,” she answered, leaning down to kiss her husband on the forehead.  He stirred slightly but did not wake.  Belle hadn’t expected him to, but she still felt a flash of disappointment.  He looked so weak and so beaten, lying there like this, and Belle wanted nothing more than to be able to kiss his hurts away.

“I lied to him,” Henry admitted quietly.  “When I told him why I wanted to work for him in the shop.  I was spying for Mom.  Regina, I mean.”

Was _that_ what was bothering Henry?  Belle felt a real smile crease her face.  “He knew, Henry.  And Rumple didn’t mind.”

“I still want to apologize to him.”

“And you will once he wakes up,” she replied, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.  “Come on.  Let’s go downstairs and you can help me make some dinner.”

“From what I hear, I’m going to have to do the cooking,” her step-grandson quipped back, cracking a smile in return. 

“Yeah, well, your grandfather shouldn’t have dealt for a knight’s daughter if he wanted someone who could cook,” Belle retorted with a laugh.  “Instead, I burned his kitchen down.”

“You  _what_ ?”

“I’ll tell you the story while we get dinner going,” she promised, leading Henry down the stairs after closing the door quietly behind them.  Rumplestiltskin slept on, his breathing shallow but steady, and as much as Belle wanted to sit with him _now_ , she knew that she could do so later.  For now, Rumple’s grandson needed someone to talk to, and Belle wouldn’t take away this opportunity to bring Henry and Rumple closer together.  She knew that her husband regretted not spending more time with Henry, and even if this was _not_ the way Rumple would have chosen to kick off their relationship, it was still a start.

Together, the librarian and the Truest Believer headed for the kitchen, but they never made it before a trio of loud knocks sounded against the door.  Exchanging glances, they headed for the front hall as another trio of knocks came, these sounding a little more hesitant than the first.

“Are you expecting someone?” Henry asked curiously.

“Not really.  Do you think it’s one of your mothers?”

“Nah, texted both of them.  Emma healed Regina, and they’re both fine with me being here.  Not that I asked for permission or anything,” the boy replied.

Belle snorted with suppressed laughter.  “You really are something, you know that?”

“Yup.”  His cheeky grin was all Neal’s, and for a moment, Belle’s heart clenched as she remembered the man who should have become her stepson…and who had been her friend during that lonely time in the Enchanted Forest.  She would have loved Neal—and Henry—for Rumple’s sake if nothing else, but she found that even Henry, who she’d spent so little time with, was working his way into her heart.

“Well, then we should go see who it is,” she shrugged, and Henry accompanied Belle to the door.  But when she opened it, the person standing on the stoop was _not_ the one she wanted to see.

Because it was the pirate.  The one who had tried to kill her three times and who had forced Rumple to beg for her life.  The one she had _trusted_ , much to Belle’s still-increasing horror.  She’d thought she’d made her feelings clear to him, made it obvious that she didn’t want him in her home, but apparently Killian Jones was too hard-headed to get the message.  _What if he’s here to hurt Rumple?_ Belle thought fearfully, tension racing through her body.  _Rumple is weak now, and—_

“What do you want?” Henry demanded before Belle could get a word out past her panic.

“Shouldn’t you be with one of your mothers, Henry?” Hook asked instead of answering the teen’s hostile question.

“No.  I’m at my _grandfather’s_ instead,” Henry retorted, and Belle finally swallowed her fear enough to lay a hand on her step-grandson’s shoulder.

“You’re not welcome here,” she said quietly.  “I think it’s best that you go.”

_Lest I call Emma and have her_ drag _you away,_ Belle didn’t say, but she was tempted to.  She didn’t know where those two stood at the moment, but Emma had healed Rumplestiltskin instead of listening to Hook’s reasoning, and that had to count for something.

“I’m not here to create trouble.  I’m here to apologize,” the pirate replied, with a hangdog expression that said he likely hadn’t slept in days.  Belle didn’t care.

“That’s a little too late, don’t you think?” she replied, even as Henry snorted from her right.

“You’re only here because Mom _told_ you to apologize or she’d kick you to the curb.”

“Henry,” Belle chided him softly, though she really did wonder if he was right.

Judging from the torn expression on Hook’s face, however, Henry had hit the nail on the head.  Still, the pirate obviously swallowed back whatever response he was going to make and squared his shoulders.  Clearing his throat, he tried again.  “What I did was wrong. I got so caught up in getting revenge against the Dark One that I—”

_Slap!_

Belle’s hand had swung almost before she realized she had stepped forward enough to slap Hook in the face, but she didn’t regret the impulsive move one bit.  Part of her might have been afraid of the pirate—part of her remembered dying at his feet while he did _nothing_ —but Belle had always believed in bravely facing her fears.  So, now she took another step forward even as Henry let out a short laugh, bringing herself face to face with Hook.

“You listen to me, Killian Jones,” she snarled.  “Apologies aren’t about _you_ or what you were feeling at the time.  I’m done caring _why_ you did it.  You’ve been dogging me—and my husband—ever since you set foot in this world, doing your best to make us both suffer.  Well, that’s over.  I’ve stopped him from killing you three times, and he’s listened because he loves _me_.  But I won’t do that again.  If you break this truce, I’ll cheer him on.”

Shocked blue eyes met hers, and Belle could see how Hook had never expected the mild-mannered, forgiving librarian to threaten him.  But she was through protecting him.  Rumple had promised to take the moral high ground, and she believed that he’d do that this time.  But not twice.  If Hook tried something else, Belle would do nothing, because enough was enough.  And she knew Rumple wouldn’t hesitate, either.

“You don’t mean—”

“I do,” Belle cut him off fiercely.  “Rumplestiltskin is my _husband_.  He’s not some demon for you to slay.  He’s the man I love, and while he’s done horrible things, _so have you._   So get off your high horse and stop pretending you’re better than him.  You stole his first wife, remember?  And then you decided it would be fun to play with a cripple, so you taunted him and played your games.  Oh, and then you handed his son over to Pan.  Remember those little things?”  Belle knew she should not say these things, particularly given how the first bit in particular was something Rumplestiltskin had only recently shared with her, but she couldn’t stop herself.  “Oh, and now you’re busy romancing the woman that _same_ son loved while you pretend to be better.  Never mind that Neal’s grave is barely cold.  You stole Henry’s grandmother.  Why not steal his mother, too?”

“I _loved_ Milah!” Hook objected.  “And he _killed_ her!”

“Yes, he did,” Belle answered simply.  “And you were both wrong.  But until you see that, your apologies are worthless.  Come back once you actually mean it.”

“I do,” he insisted.

“No, you just want Emma back,” she retorted coldly, and saw confirmation of it in his eyes.  “And, by the way, apologizing to _me_ isn’t going to cut it, either.  When you actually feel like meaning it, you can come back and apologize to Rumplestiltskin, too.  He’s the one who you shoved to his knees to watch his wife die.”

The pirate stared at her, slack-jawed, but Belle could feel Henry’s approval radiating at her side.   Perhaps she had said too much, but it was high time someone called Killian Jones on his so-called redemption.  _At least Rumplestiltskin is honest about it.  This one just thinks he can be better because he wants to be, without atoning for anything he’s ever done,_ she thought angrily.  _And then when he does something else wrong, he assumes he’ll be forgiven because he’s some ‘hero’ now._  

“Come back when you mean it,” Belle repeated, and stepped back inside, shutting the door firmly.  Henry went with her.

* * *

 

“Of course I accept your apology,” Archie said soothingly.  “I understand that you were acting under…well, I wouldn’t say duress, but something of a self-imposed compulsion.”

Killian tried not to frown, tried to accept the words at face value, but he didn’t manage to.  Listening to his centuries-long quest for revenge reduced to a _self-imposed compulsion_ was hard.  He had spent years with only the thought of revenge against the demon who had killed his Milah to keep him warm at night, but Killian had always intended to have _honorable_ revenge.  He lived by a code, after all, and tried very hard to keep to it.  He’d spent years trying to kill Rumplestiltskin, to avenge the woman he had loved so very much.  That need had been his guiding light for so many years…and yet somehow he had lost his way.

“I…suppose it is.  Or was,” Killian replied slowly, swallowing hard.  “I don’t know.”

The last words came out of him with more honesty than he’d intended, and the doctor gave him a sympathetic smile. 

“Why are you here, Captain?  I can’t imagine you just came to apologize,” Archie said quietly.

“I should have done that earlier,” he admitted, remembering what Emma had said to him.  _All your talk of change is meaningless._   She was right.  He’d been trying so hard to be better, to be a hero worthy of Emma Swan, that he’d forgotten the most basic tenant of being a good person.  _You have to make right your wrongs,_ Liam had taught him so many years ago.  _A man of honor always does the_ right _thing, even when it’s hard._

Apologizing to Archie, who he had tortured for information about Rumplestiltskin, was certainly something Liam would have expected of him.  It was something that _he_ would have expected of himself when his brother had been alive.  Killian had been so different back then; he’d been an officer and a gentleman, a man whom Emma could have been proud of loving.  A man worthy of a princess.  Now, he was nothing but a pirate, and a dishonorable one at that.    _Good men don’t make women into their victims, no matter_ who _they dare love,_ he thought to himself, wondering how he had drifted so far away from everything he had once believed. 

“Yes, you should have,” the shrink agreed, somehow sounding like he didn’t blame anyone.  His voice was still gentle, though, and his eyes were compassionate.  “But that doesn’t address why you are here _now._ ”

“Emma…” Killian sucked in a deep breath, and hated the way it hitched in his throat. “Emma told me that I need to do more than just try to move beyond my past.  I have to atone for the wrongs I have done…or she won’t stay with me.”

“It sounds to me like she’s already kicked you to the curb,” Archie said gently.

Killian grimaced.  “It feels like.”

“Well, then you have to decide if she is worth fighting for.  If so—”

“She is,” he cut the cricket-turned-shrink off quickly.  “I’ll do whatever it takes to make her happy.”

“I think that what Emma is looking for isn’t for you to change for _her_ , Captain,” Archie corrected him softly.  “I think she wants you to change for yourself.  Otherwise, it’s not much better than an act.  Not if you don’t really want to change in your heart.”

His mouth opened automatically to protest, but Killian stopped himself, forcing himself to listen to exactly what it was that the doctor was saying.  When was the last time he’d looked at his own soul and thought about changing, about doing anything more than winning Emma Swan’s heart?  He’d tried to be a hero for her, because Emma _did_ give him a reason to be a better man.  She helped him remember that he could be something other than just a pirate, but he’d never really walked away from what he’d been.  He’d just turned his back on that, hoping that would be enough.  _But it isn’t, is it?_   Killian felt like someone had hit him in the face with a two by four.  He had tried so hard to be a better man because _Emma_ wanted it. But what did _he_ want?

He wanted to be worthy of her.  Killian knew that much for sure.  But the man he’d once been, the officer in the King’s Navy, who _would_ have been worthy of Emma, was long gone. He’d buried that man with his brother, had tried so hard to forget him until Emma came along.  Milah had wanted an adventurous pirate, a dangerous man with a dark side.  Emma, however, Emma _deserved_ a hero.  So, he had tried to be one.  And somewhere along the way, he had started _wanting_ to be a hero.  Wanting to be the man he had once been, the idealistic lieutenant who had always done the right thing.  Convincing himself that he could be that man again had been easy, because the prize at the end of such a journey was Emma Swan.  But he’d tried to become that man again without facing the darkness he’d embraced in between.

“Emma wants me to apologize to Belle, but she won’t listen,” Killian admitted.

“Belle, you mean?”

“Yes.  I tried, but she told me to leave.”

Wise eyes found his.  “Is that all she said?”

“She told me to come back when I meant it,” he whispered after a moment’s hesitation.  Killian still couldn’t understand why he’d decided that Belle had to die, what had made the darkness in the deepest recesses of his soul roar up and lash out like that.  What _had_ he been thinking?  Belle had every right to be angry at him, particularly because she had—yet again—been caught in the middle of his quest for revenge.  Once, Killian had been honored by Belle’s trust.  She’d handed him the dagger and trusted him to do the right thing…and he hadn’t.  Thoughts of revenge had consumed him once more, and he had lost himself in it.

“Did you mean it?” Archie asked directly.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to face the truth.  “No.  I just went straight there because Emma wanted me to,” he answered.  “I…I _do_ regret what happened to Belle.  She deserved better.  I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

“And what about your quest for revenge?”

“I still think he’s a villain,” Killian answered immediately, and then took a deep breath.  “But maybe…maybe I’ve been one, too.”

_You’ll never find your future if you keep living in the past,_ someone had once said. Maybe it was time to start living for the future.

* * *

 

Henry was sitting in a chair by the bedside when Rumplestiltskin woke up the next morning.  Rather, he slowly blinked his way towards consciousness, his entire body aching and a screaming headache bouncing around behind his eyes.  But at least the room was not spinning.  Now.

“I thought you’d be long gone,” the Dark One whispered hoarsely, looking at his grandson in surprise.  Something in the vicinity of his heart fluttered suspiciously, and memory stirred.  How many times had a young Bae watched over his father after some town bully or another had hurt him, patching his father up when he couldn’t help himself?  If he squinted just wrong, if he let his imagination run wild, Rumplestiltskin could imagine that he was back before everything went wrong, back before he’d lost his beloved son.

But this wasn’t Baelfire.  This was Bae’s son, the boy who his own son had died to get back to.  _I’ll protect him for you, Bae,_ Rumplestiltskin promised his son’s soul silently.  _I let you down, but I won’t do the same to your son.  I swear it._

“Nah, Belle said I could stay the night,” the lad answered his question with Bae’s smile.  “You want some water?”

“Please.”  Rumplestiltskin felt like someone had scorched his tongue with sandpaper.

Jumping up from his chair, Henry grabbed a glass of water off the nightstand and then returned, perching on the bed next to his grandfather.  Cautiously, he passed the glass over, and Rumplestiltskin was glad to see that his own hand was steady when he took it. Still, he sipped slowly, not sure how well his strung out body would accept the liquid.  He was still dizzy and weak; his magic had knit up the few wounds that Emma hadn’t, but the battle with the demon had taken a lot out of Rumplestiltskin.  However, had Emma not healed him, he would still have been unconscious, probably for days yet, so Rumplestiltskin was rather glad to be awake, overall.

“That help?” Henry asked after he’d taken several sips and found that, much to his surprise, the water stayed down.

“I think so, yes,” he replied slowly, handing the glass back.  Another deep breath, and then he sat up slowly, feeling muscles in his chest spasm as he did so.  He was still sore and tired, but apparently functional.  There were some perks to being the Dark One, after all.  His still-human body might hurt, but it would work if he used enough magic to force things along.  Of course, he was still paying for doing that exact same thing while fighting the demon, but Emma had managed to inadvertently sidetrack some of that price onto herself.  _I bet_ she _slept like the dead last night._ So, Rumplestiltskin could afford to do the same thing again, knowing that he could stretch out the costs over the next few weeks and function almost normally in the meantime.  Albeit uncomfortably.

“I’m glad,” his grandson said quietly, shifting uncomfortably. 

“What’s wrong, Henry?” Rumplestiltskin asked after he finished laboriously maneuvering himself into a sitting position.

The lad looked away.  “You almost died saving me.”

“Ah, it wouldn’t have killed me,” he reassured the boy, forcing a half smile.  “Even if certain people in this town would have preferred it to, I’m not so easy to kill.”

“But you came close,” Henry argued, turning to look at him, and Rumplestiltskin found himself looking into eyes that were so very like his own.  _Bae’s eyes_ , he thought before he could stop himself, before Henry could ask bluntly:  “ _Could_ it have killed you?”

 Somehow, he couldn’t lie to a boy who looked so much like his own son.  Not today.  “It could have,” he answered honestly, letting out a ragged breath.  “If I’d been less careful.  I _did_ plan things out rather specifically, you realize.”

“You’re good at that, aren’t you?  You planned out the entire curse so that you could find Dad.” 

Had Henry said that accusingly, Rumplestiltskin would have clammed up, would have slipped back inside the protective shell he’d erected after Bae’s death.  Only Belle had been allowed fully inside that shell, and not even her until he’d screwed up so badly that she almost died because of it.  But Henry…Henry was his blood.  Henry had been everything to Bae, Henry and Emma had, and Rumplestiltskin had allowed himself to lose track of that when he’d been lost in his own pain.  _Henry deserves better.  He deserves a grandfather who can tell him about his father, who can be there and care about him._ Caring meant risking losing again, but Bae wasn’t able to be here for his son.  _That means I need to do it for him._

“Yes,” he answered quietly.  “Yes, I did.”

“Was it worth it?” Henry whispered.  “Even though…?”  The boy’s voice cracked on the last bit, and that was when Rumple knew that he wasn’t the only one who felt Bae’s death so keenly.

“Every bit of it,” Rumplestiltskin whispered thickly, feeling tears trying to gather in his eyes.  “He was worth every moment.”

“I miss him,” the boy admitted, and there were matching tears in his eyes, too. “I didn’t get much time with him, and then he was _gone_.  What did I do wrong? Why didn’t I get the chance to know him?”

“Oh, Henry…” Rumplestiltskin barely got the words out around the lump in his throat, and then hesitated to reach out to his grandson.  Every paternal instinct he still had told him to offer comfort to the boy, but he wasn’t entirely sure it was welcome.  After all, they’d spent very little time together outside of Henry working in the shop, and he wasn’t exactly—

Somehow, he wound up with his arms full of a quietly crying twelve year old boy, and Rumplestiltskin just embraced Henry as gently as he could.  “You didn’t do anything wrong, Henry.  Your father loved you more than anything…and if I could swap places with him, right now, so that he could be here for you, I would.”

“It’s not your fault he died,” Henry whispered.  “That was Zelena.  Belle told me what happened after I got my memories back.”

“That doesn’t absolve me,” Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard, and then forced himself to continue.  “But that’s not the important thing.  The important thing is that I spent a year sharing my mind with Bae, and that means I know _exactly_ what you meant to him. He would have done anything for you, Henry, and he would be so happy that you’re all right.”

“Is that why you protected me?” Henry asked, not letting go of him.

“In part,” he admitted.  “But I mostly did it because you’re my grandson.  Family is…important to me.  More than anything.  I know I don’t always show it well, particularly with you, but you _matter_ , Henry.  And that’s why I did what I did.  Because you’re my grandson.”

“Thanks, Grandpa.  I love you, too.”

* * *

 

Hook showed up shortly after Henry insisted on helping Rumplestiltskin down the stairs for breakfast.  Belle had picked up what looked like an entire feast from Granny’s, and between her and Henry, they talked him into eating more than he would have otherwise.  By the time the pirate knocked on the door, Rumplestiltskin was feeling both full and sleepy.  He’d intended to go back to bed, but the moment the banging came on the door, Rumplestiltskin drew on his magic.  It swept through him like fire, replenishing his energy reserves and letting him slide a glamour over himself.   Belle threw him a hard look his way, but Rumplestiltskin gave her a half shrug.  The town had seen enough of his weaknesses; he would show them no more.  Whoever was at the door was going to see him as he preferred to be seen, not with the scars on display that Zelena had carved into his body and his soul.

Particularly not the pirate who had had him on his knees begging for Belle’s life, who had _refused_ to let him even save the woman he loved because he hated Rumplestiltskin that much.  Had Belle not pointed out that leaving Hook alive would be a much crueler punishment than killing him, Rumplestiltskin would have drawn and quartered the bastard already—and would have enjoyed every moment of it.  He would have done to Hook what Hook wanted to do to Belle, but…other forms of revenge were indeed more fitting.

_I get to live with my mistakes.  Let him do the same,_ Rumplestiltskin thought, opening the door and allowing a small smile to crease his face as he opened the door.  He’d seen the familiar lanky form and leather jacket through the side window, and now Rumplestiltskin put on his best manipulative Dark One mien to face the man who had spent centuries trying to kill him. 

Dying was the easy way out, after all.  It was far more fun to smile at the pirate and say: “Captain.  Do come in.”

_That_ made Hook blink and look warily at Belle and Henry, both of whom were staring at him with rather undisguised hostility.  Of course, Belle had told Rumplestiltskin about Hook’s aborted attempt at an apology the afternoon before, and had told him what she’d said to the pirate.  And that she’d slapped him, which Rumplestiltskin would have kissed her for had his grandson not been watching.  Henry, however, seemed to be in complete agreement with her, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t find it in himself to regret how that would complicate Emma’s relationship with her current beau.  _She deserves better,_ Rumplestiltskin decided, watching Hook walk warily into his home.  _Bae loved her._

“I just need a moment of your time,” Hook said uneasily, looking around like he was waiting for the world to fall on him.

_If I have my way, it just might._

“Of course you do, dearie.  Don’t sit down,” Rumplestiltskin said, closing the door.  Belle and Henry stood to his left, with Hook across from them in the foyer.  A long moment of silence crawled by, in which Hook’s blue eyes desperately sought out Henry, but the boy just crossed his arms and continued to glare.  No, he wasn’t going to forgive Emma’s boyfriend anytime soon, and Rumplestiltskin was rather pleased to see that.  Did that make him a bad person?  Probably.

“I’m here to apologize,” the pirate started softly, clearing his throat noisily and shifting uneasily.  Rumplestiltskin just watched him and waited, keeping his face expressionless and hoping Belle would take a cue from him.  _Hopefully, she won’t kick him out just yet.  I want to see this first._

Interestingly enough, he _was_ interested in what Hook had to say.  Not because he’d believe any apology that Hook uttered—there was too much bad blood between them, and on both sides—but because Rumplestiltskin knew that _this_ little conversation might indicate the direction his relationship with the Charmings would take.  Like it or not, that clan had decided that Hook was one of their own.  Rumplestiltskin might think that was a foolish decision, but he knew that family well enough to know that they wouldn’t ‘give up’ on Hook any more than they had Regina.  That, of course, would mean that they’d forgive Hook for trying to kill Belle yet again, and that Rumplestiltskin’s own experiences at his hands (past and present both) were unimportant.  There were times that the Charmings’ hypocrisy really irked him, but Rumplestiltskin had been around too long to dwell on that.  In their eyes, Hook was the wronged party.  Why Rumplestiltskin had killed Milah, or the fact that he still thought of her with a pang of regret, didn’t matter to them.  And Belle…well, Belle was tainted by loving him.  They’d always think she was _lesser_ because of that.

“I’m here to apologize,” Hook repeated, turning to look Belle in the eye.  “And to mean it.”

“You’re saying the words, but I still have no reason to believe you,” Belle retorted bluntly, and again, Rumplestiltskin felt like kissing her.  His wife was one of the most forgiving people he had ever met (a facet of her personality that had saved him multiple times), but she was also brave and would stand her ground when she felt it important.  Like now.

Her response made Hook flinch, but to the pirate’s credit, he took the blow without wavering. “You’re right.  Just like you were right when you said that I’ve done terrible things, too.  I don’t expect you to forgive me, Belle.  I just want you to know that I _am_ sorry.  Because you deserved better.  You’ve been caught in this vendetta of ours”—Rumplestiltskin raised an eyebrow, but was intrigued when Hook corrected himself immediately—“of _mine_ , for a long time, and I never should have dragged you into it.”

That was something even Rumplestiltskin could agree with, at least.  Belle gave Hook a slight nod in response, and Rumplestiltskin could hear his wife take a deep breath.

“I accept your apology,” she replied calmly.  “Though I know I’m not ready to forgive you.  And I _do_ mean what I said yesterday.”

“I understand,” the pirate answered, and then—much to Rumplestiltskin’s surprise, Hook turned to face him.  “And I owe you an apology as well.”

“This should be interesting,” he muttered before he could stop himself, and got a glare from his wife in response.  Belle might not have liked Hook, and would probably never trust him again, but she obviously didn’t want Rumplestiltskin messing things up, either.  Fortunately, Hook pretended that he didn’t hear that, and continued:

“I never should have broken the truce we made in Neverland.  I…I won’t say that I can ever forget what you did to Milah.  Or for trying to put Emma in that hat.  But I also shouldn’t have threatened to ruin your marriage.  Particularly not now that I know how losing regard of the woman you love feels.”

“Indeed you do,” Rumplestiltskin replied quietly, remembering the way Emma had glared at Hook.  He didn’t pity the man at all—Hook had made his bed and he could lie in it, just as Rumplestiltskin had—but he could understand.  A little.

“There’s something I need to know,” Hook said in a rush, getting in before Rumplestiltskin could decide if he was going to even pay lip service to accepting that apology.  _Particularly since he didn’t even mention the fact that he was going to make me_ kill _Belle_ , he thought as the pirate continued quickly: “Did you curse me to do that?  Did you put some kind of compulsion on the dagger to make me do things I _never_ would have done?  I keep turning it over in my mind, and nothing makes sense, unless you made it happen.”

“How can you even ask that?” Belle demanded as Rumplestiltskin gaped, fury and heartbreak rolling through him in tandem, as he remembered Belle lying bleeding and _dying_ while this bastard laughed.  The only thing that tempered his sudden desire to kill the pirate quickly and without mercy was the fact that his grandson was standing right there…and because he knew what had driven Hook to do as he did.  _In part._

“I put that behind me!” Hook pleaded to Belle, looking desperate.  “Being willing to blackmail him—and even to ruin your marriage—isn’t the same as wanting you dead!  I wasn’t going to do that, so someone must have—”

“You think I would ever endanger Belle?” Rumplestiltskin cut him off, stepping forward as his voice dropped almost to a whisper in his rage.  “Do you think that I was playing some sort of game when I begged you for her _life_?  I hate to disappoint you, dearie, but when you held that dagger, I had no choice in obeying you.  I couldn’t fight you any more than I could Zelena _while my son died_.  So, no, I didn’t curse you.  You did that yourself.”

Those words seemed to break Hook; Rumplestiltskin watched him crumble, watched his wild hopes of being able to blame someone else for his actions crushed.  Part of him wanted to laugh; the Dark One inside him was willing to wiggle, giggle, and dance with glee, because as painful as the journey here had been, the payoff was quite marvelous.  But he was also so tired.  Tired of being the villain of every piece.  Tired of destroying everything he touched.  Tired of wondering if his son would despise him for every choice he made. 

“It’s just like your hand,” Henry filled the silence wisely.  “You thought it was cursed, but that was just an excuse.”

That seemed to be the final nail in the coffin; Hook deflated, blue eyes clouding over and his face falling.  _I know how to recognize a desperate soul_.  Those words echoed in Rumplestiltskin’s ears, and they were never truer.  There was one standing before him now.  Belle had told him that Hook had come to apologize because Emma insisted on it, but the man did seem sincere in at least his apology towards Belle.  The bad blood between the pirate and the Dark One would probably never wear thin, but what mattered to Rumplestiltskin was that Hook never went after Belle again.  If he had to accept the pirate’s apology to get there, he would.  But there were other possibilities, too.  _Because Belle is right.  Killing him will burn all the bridges I have with the Charmings, and I can’t afford that.  This town is too small, unless I want to play the chief villain until someone else gets the dagger and stops me._

“I’ve said what I needed to say,” Hook said heavily.  “Thank you for listening.”  The last bit was directed at Belle, but Rumplestiltskin could not blame him for that.  Not as the pirate turned towards the door with a heavy step, his shoulder hunched and posture defeated.  Rumplestiltskin let him reach out for the knob before speaking up:

“A moment, Captain,” he said, his voice still quiet and dangerous. 

Hook froze.  Rumplestiltskin could see him thinking, could see him wondering if the truce was going to end here and now and the Dark One was going to take his revenge.  The demon inside Rumplestiltskin chortled at the thought, raging victoriously and demanding blood, but he throttled thoughts like that back.  His vengeance was going to be more subtle than that, and Hook was going to _owe_ him.

“You aren’t entirely mistaken.  _I_ didn’t curse you, but the dagger does have an effect on whomever wields it,” he said bluntly, and Hook wheeled around, blue eyes wide.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that my _curse_ originates within that dagger,” Rumplestiltskin clarified.  “It exerts a pull on whomever holds the dagger, driving you to fulfill your darkest desires.  The dagger can corrupt even the purest of hearts”—he didn’t dare look at Belle—“and as for yours?  You were easy.”

“You…?”

“Not I, dearie,” he replied honestly.  “If I could control that dagger in another’s hands, we’d not be in this situation at all.  No, they were _your_ desires, Captain.  Otherwise, my curse never could have reached through the dagger and pushed you towards them.  A part of you wanted to do exactly what you did…but you might never have given in to those latent desires had you not held the dagger.  I’d even go so far as to say you probably would not have done so.”

Hook wore the expression of a man who was afraid to hope.  “Emma will never believe me if I tell her that,” he whispered brokenly.

“Ah, but I am willing to bet that she’ll believe _me_.”

“Why would you tell her that?” the pirate demanded, his face stark white.  “After what I did?”

“Don’t mistake it for kindness,” Rumplestiltskin replied, letting a twisted smile cross his face.  Yes, he could appease his curse and have his revenge, all without killing this noxious pirate.  _And perhaps I can show Emma Swan a bit of kindness while I’m at it.  Surely, she deserves that, even if this fool never will._ There was also another silver lining, one he’d not counted but was nonetheless extremely seductive.  “I’m not that sort of man.  But I _will_ tell her, and then you’re going to owe me.”

Hook blanched, looking torn between joy and despair.  “Define owing you,” he said shortly.

“Oh, I don’t have anything particular in mind.  But I’m sure it will come up eventually.”

“I don't like the sound of that,” the pirate growled.

“Do you prefer the idea of losing your lady love?” Rumplestiltskin countered easily, and he could see the way this desperate soul grasped at that straw, reaching out with both metaphorical hands to cling to any hope at all.

“No.”

“Well, then.  It appears you need my help,” he smiled, twirling his hand slightly to emphasize his next point.  “Don't worry so, Captain.  I can promise you no sorcerer's hats, no fairies sucked into the maw of eternity.  I probably won't even ask you to do anything you find morally repulsive.  Let's just say that you'll owe me a favor.  Or two, depending upon how important Miss Swan is to you.”

“She's worth the _world_ to me,” Hook grated out.

“Well, then.”  Turning to open the door for his ‘guest’, Rumplestiltskin met those brown eyes easily.  “There you have it.”

He had him.  Hook, line, and sinker.

* * *

 

“A word, Miss Swan?” the cultured and slightly accented voice said as Emma strode into the sheriff’s station, making her whirl to face Gold. 

Her heart leapt into her throat immediately, despite her best efforts to control it.  Emma wasn’t precisely afraid of Gold, but she _was_ wary of him.  She hadn’t talked to him alone since he’d set her up to get sucked into the sorcerer’s hat, either.  Killian had been furious about that, but Emma had found her conversation with Gold that day oddly enlightening; he was a difficult man to understand, yet she thought she was beginning to.  Learning what Zelena had done to him had just confirmed that.  Gold—Rumplestiltskin, even—was an insecure and frightened man underneath all his power, one who had been damaged one too many times and wasn’t sure he could get up again.  Had he not been such a difficult man to get to know, Emma might have felt the need to protect him because of that inner fragility, and yet…

“Sure,” she replied as casually as she could, hanging her coat on the rack and turning to face him.  “What can I do for you?”

“Your dear captain came by my home to apologize.  Again,” he answered, with that small shrug that told Emma—or _tried_ to tell Emma—that he didn’t care.  Gold continued lightly: “Belle didn’t even slap him this time.”

“He came twice?” Emma asked, confused.  She’d intentionally stayed away and let Killian either dig his own grave or pull himself out of trouble.  She knew he’d spoken to Archie because she’d seen them together, but beyond that, this was Killian’s problem.  Emma _had_ to distance herself from it.  Still, the last comment came as a bit of a surprise.  “And Belle _slapped_ him?”

Gold smiled thinly, but Emma thought she saw something gleaming in his eyes.  “That she did.  According to Henry, he deserved it.”

“Oh.”  What _could_ she say to that?   Not much, that was what.  So, Emma decided to go with a joke instead, giving herself time to get back on balance by saying dryly: “I take it you’re not here to turn yourself in for killing him.”

“Certainly not.”  Gold laughed softly.  “What do you take me for, Sheriff?  I always keep a truce once made.”

_Unlike Killian, apparently._ Those words hung in the air between them, but Emma resolutely ignored the tsunami of feelings the thought awoke inside her. 

“I’m not sure what you are,” she answered.  “Hell, I’m not sure _you_ always know.”

Was that a slight flinch in the unreadable expression?  Telling was impossible.  But Gold merely shrugged.  “Today, I’m the man who is going to help you fix your love life.”

“You’re _what_?”  That was rich!  Emma stared at the slender man suspiciously as he smiled thinly, unable to stop herself from asking: “Why?”

“You might say it’s an unfortunate habit after having done the same for your parents for so long.”  Another shrug, and now his expression was very closed off.  “Or, you might say it’s my way of making amends to the mother of my grandson for nearly sucking you into that hat.”

An apology from Rumplestiltskin?  The world might be ending.  Either that, or he just didn’t like owing people.  _Henry’s been at his house since yesterday afternoon, too, and I wouldn’t put this past my budding schemer,_ she thought.  But Emma had no intentions of broaching that subject.  Not in this lifetime.

“Is this your way of saying thank you for healing you?” she asked instead of inquiring about just how much her son took after his paternal grandfather.

“In part,” he allowed.  “Now, I happen to think that your current taste in men is rather…lacking, let’s say, but that is your concern,” said the father of her first love.  “What matters is that it’s _your_ choice.  And that you make that choice while having all of the relevant information.”

“What information is that?” she asked warily, wondering if he was going to feed her some line about Killian.  Or maybe he wasn’t.  Freedom of choice seemed to be a big thing for Gold, now, given what he’d been through.  He’d even been meticulous about letting _Emma_ choose if she was going to walk through those doors and be sucked into the hat, even if he hadn’t given her all the details.  _“Call it what it is, dearie,”_ he had said back when they’d gone to get him to face the demon.  _“If you hold that dagger, I am your slave.”_ Yes, Emma decided.  He valued choices these days, even those belonging to others.

“The dagger isn’t just a means of controlling _me_ ,” the Dark One replied evenly, his dark eyes growing cold.  “It is the vehicle by which my curse is transferred.  Accordingly, some of the curse—particularly here in Storybrooke—will always remain rooted in the dagger.  And make no mistake; this is no sleeping curse, no minor bit of evil.  It is the darkest and most toxic curse in creation.  It can—and _will_ —reach through the dagger to corrupt whomever holds it, driving them towards their darkest and most vile desires.

“Like pushing Killian towards revenge again,” she realized out loud.  “Making him want to— _willing_ to—kill Belle.”

“Indeed.”  Momentary anger tightened his expression, but Emma saw him force that aside.  “Now, don’t give him too much credit, dear.  The _desires_ were his own—a fact that _I_ , for one, certainly will not forget.  But the dagger undoubtedly pushed him further than he intended to go.”

“Just like it does you?” Emma asked with a flash of insight.

The only answer was an enigmatic smile, tense and mysterious, but Emma instinctually knew that was true.  She _had_ seen Gold grow darker as of late—and that made another realization flash through her mind.  “It’s worse after you’ve been controlled, isn’t it?  You talk about a part of the curse driving people to be darker, but you have to contend with the whole damn thing.”

“Indeed I do.”

That admission was a little surprising.  She’d never really thought of him as someone under a curse, because he looked so normal, but recent events did seem to prove how true that was.  Yet that wasn’t the point, was it?  She’d learned something, maybe even something valuable, but not what she really needed to know.  Emma’s eyes narrowed.  “Why are you telling me this?  You _never_ tell people about your curse.”

“Of course not.  But Zelena’s actions wrested many of those secrets into the open, so there’s far less reason to prevaricate,” he replied, his gaze direct and sharp.  “There’s also a lesson in this for all of you hero types.”

The man _was_ smart.  Emma caught on immediately.

“You’re implying that _anyone_ controlling you is at risk of becoming darker, of giving in to those impulses, just because they have the dagger.”

“All magic comes at a price,” Rumplestiltskin said bluntly.  “Why you people think that _controlling_ the Dark One exempts you from that, I’ll never know.”

The small hint of emotion behind his words made Emma believe Gold spoke the truth.  He was not the kind of man who gave anything away for free, particularly details about himself.  While Emma wouldn’t have put it past Gold to offer false information about himself if he felt it would serve his purposes, she didn’t believe he was doing that now.  He seemed too uncomfortable to be lying, and besides, there was no way he wanted to help Killian out.  Gold might have included Killian in his truce, but that didn’t mean Emma thought they’d ever like one another.  _Though Killian did apparently apologize well enough to make some amends with Belle,_ she thought to herself.  That counted for a lot, particularly since Emma knew Belle was no longer in a forgiving mood. 

“I don’t know,” Emma replied quietly, thinking about how much she still didn’t understand about her own magic.  She’d heard Gold say that all magic came with a price at least a dozen times, but she still couldn’t quite wrap her mind around that.  Magic was like a foreign language, utterly alien.  Sometimes she could just relax and _feel_ things, but others it was like swimming through ice.  “Magic just seems… _easier_ , I guess, when it’s someone else doing it.”

That earned her a genuine smile, the first she’d ever gotten from Gold.  “Indeed they do,” he replied, and then his head twitched ever so slightly to the right, as if he was listening to something.  “I do believe that your dear Captain is about to return.  Do give him my regards.”

Without a further word, Gold vanished in a swirl of red smoke, leaving Emma to stand in the station alone.  But he’d been right; within a minute, Killian walked in, looking both buoyed and devastated.  How one man could manage to wear both expressions at the same time was beyond Emma, but somehow he did.  Something in her heart twitched suspiciously as she watched him, but Emma forced herself to take a deep breath.  How much of her relationship with Killian Jones was built on her loneliness, on her desire to be with _someone_ who wouldn’t leave her?  Graham had died.  Neal had died.  Walsh had never been real, and neither would have been the life she would have built with him.  Killian was very real, and very _there_ , and he’d stood by her when others would have run away.

But maybe she’d jumped into this relationship too fast, thinking it would be like every other short-lived love affair she’d ever had.  Killian, however, obviously wanted more than that: he wanted commitment, real love, and acceptance.  Emma…well, she wasn’t sure what she wanted, but she knew now that she wasn’t prepared to accept him back without strings attached.  She didn’t expect him to be some perfect storybook hero—her father pretty much defined that trope, anyway—but she did want him to be a good person.  Or, barring that, _try_ to be.  And that meant no jumping headfirst into relationship with a man who dealt with his own dark past by trying to bury it.

“Hello, Swan,” the pirate said softly, looking at her hesitantly.

“Hi,” she said awkwardly, crossing her arms and leaning against the desk to give herself something to do.  “How’d it go?”

“As well as can be expected, I think,” Killian replied.  “They listened, anyway.  Though I must admit that I needed the cricket’s— _Archie’s_ —help, first.”

“He was willing to help?” Emma asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear how Killian said it.

“Aye.  After I apologized.  He deserved my apologies more than most, given how he’d been caught in the crossfire when I first came to Storybrooke.  I’d all but forgotten about that.”

She gave him a hard look.  “I’d hope it’s hard to forget torturing someone.”

“I was a different man, then,” Killian answered quickly, and Emma could see him swallowing hard.  “I’ve tried so hard not to be that man.  For you.  But I…I forgot that I have to change for myself as well.  I did a lot of thinking last night, and I realized that my brother would not be proud of what I’ve become.  And neither am I.”

That was more soul-searching than Emma had expected when she’d demanded that he offer up real apologies, and it actually _meant_ something, too.  Particularly when combined with the knowledge that the dagger really did corrupt the person holding it.  _Perhaps we’ll all come out of this mess better in the end,_ she dared to hope, and finally admitted to Killian: “Gold told me about how the dagger could push you.”

“Already?” He looked surprised.

“Yeah.  He just left.”

“Magic.”  Killian spat the word like it was a curse, and a small, insecure part of Emma wondered briefly if he’d ever see her that way.  But that thought wasn’t fair to Killian.  He’d always supported her magic, even when everyone else worried about her powers going out of control.

“He does do that,” Emma replied as casually as she could, aching to take the easy way out and change the subject.  But no.  They both deserved better than that, so she squared her shoulders.  “And um…speaking of, well, everything, I think you and I need to talk about where we go from here.”

“Does that mean there still is a ‘we’ to talk about?” her (former?) boyfriend asked hopefully.

“Even something terrible happening doesn’t erase my feelings,” she admitted slowly.  “But I think we’re moving too fast.  I don’t want to stop seeing you, but I’d like to try being friends for a bit, first.  Let you figure out who you want to be, and let me get to know that Killian Jones.  Sound all right?”

“I can do that, love,” Killian said immediately, and Emma could tell that he wanted to kiss her.  Maybe someday she’d step forward again and welcome that kiss, but first they needed to slow down.  Until then…Emma would deal with being lonely.  She had practice.

Besides, had a wonderful family, parents who loved her unconditionally and a son who was better than any mother deserved, along with a little brother who looked at her like she knew all the answers.  Her world wasn’t going to end just because a romance went on hold.  Besides, perhaps in the end, she and Killian would come out stronger for the battles they’d fought.  If Emma really was going to get into a serious relationship with this man, this pirate, she was going to do things right.  And that meant getting to know _all_ of him first.  She would go into this with her eyes wide open or not at all.

* * *

 

Henry had left shortly after Rumple headed into town to talk to Emma, leaving Belle home alone to fret.  It wasn’t that she thought anything bad was going to happen to Rumplestiltskin, not when he was in full control of his powers, but she _knew_ he was hiding his weaknesses _again._   Even though the Charmings and the others had reacted with compassion rather than scorn, Rumple still felt the need to hide his wounds behind magic.  Once, Belle would have been annoyed by that, but now she was starting to understand just how fragile her husband was.  That, of course, simply meant she was worried rather than irritated, and spent her time pacing through the kitchen, into the parlor, and then back around the living room while she tried to think up ways to help him.

“Are you all right, sweetheart?”

Startled, Belle dropped the dagger.  She’d brought it down from their bedroom and been clinging to it for comfort ever since, wondering if Rumplestiltskin would know she had it in her hands or not.  That small possibility of a connection helped her keep from panicking; Belle wasn’t usually the worrying sort, but it had only been three days since she’d gotten Rumplestiltskin back.  In that short time, she’d almost died, he’d almost given his life to protect Henry, and they’d come closer together than ever before.  But it had only been three little days, and she was still so afraid that she’d wake up from this dream and find herself alone again.

“Rumple,” she gasped in surprise, bending quickly to pick up the dagger.  “We left this on the nightstand after we got you in bed.  You need to put it away.”

Too late, Belle saw the flash of fear in his eyes as she offered him the dagger, though she did also see the fear wash away in a wave of gratitude.  Rumplestiltskin accepted the dagger quickly, and then willingly walked into her embrace.  She wrapped her arms around him, holding on tightly and allowing her touch to make up for her foolishness.  Rumplestiltskin clung to her, obviously careful to keep the dagger away from her back, and they stood in silence for several long moments.

“I love you,” he whispered, and Belle thought she felt the slightest of tremors beneath the glamor he wore.

“I love you, too,” Belle replied fiercely, knowing they both needed to hear those words.  The wound were still too fresh; some might have scabbed over, but the damage remained under the surface.  They had hurt one another so deeply, so completely, and although they’d somehow come out the other side intact, that did not mean the hurts were gone.  Having an enemy to face _together_ had helped, but they would _both_ have to be willing to fight to keep from falling apart once more.  Just thinking of that possibility made her swallow.  “Did everything go all right?”

“Emma knows,” Rumplestiltskin confirmed with a nod, stepping back to offer Belle a hand to hold.  “What she does from here is up to her.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive him, even knowing what I know,” Belle admitted quietly.

Fingers squeezed hers gently.  “I know I won’t,” her husband replied, his eyes slightly distant.  “But then, I am not such a good person as you.”

“You have a good heart, Rumple.  Under your curse,” she told him as they walked out the back door together, the dagger still gripped tightly in his hand.  “Otherwise, you would never have faced the demon to save Henry.”

Grimacing, he opened the door to the cellar and then twitched his fingers to turn the light on.  “I’m a selfish man, Belle.  Sometimes…I need reminding not to be.”

“You decided to tell Emma on your own,” she reminded him.

“Not for altruistic reasons.”  She opened her mouth to object as they reached the bottom of the stairs, but Rumplestiltskin cut her off with a shake of his head.  “We agreed to be honest, and that means I shouldn’t pretend to be something I’m not.  I’m not a good man…and I’m not a strong one, either.  Not without you.”

Belle’s chance to reply was forestalled by magic; Rumplestiltskin lifted the hand that held the dagger and a section of the cellar floor lifted.  Inside was a box, which Belle bent to retrieve, releasing her husband’s hand to do so.  As she held the polished wooden box out, Rumplestiltskin placed the dagger inside with his right hand and accepted the box with his left, maintaining control of the dagger—and his freedom.  But Belle kept contact with the box, via the lightest touch of her fingertips; that was required for the magic to work, for Belle to be able to retrieve the dagger later, if needed.  Meanwhile, Rumplestiltskin sealed the box, his hands glowing gold and bright.  Now, no one could open that box save the two of them, and Belle could only do so of her own free will.  No one could force her; the spells would detect that and keep the box closed.

More importantly, Belle could not open the box with malice in her heart.  That had been her own addition to the spell, one she’d insisted upon the first time they’d hidden the dagger together.  Being able to get to the dagger in an emergency was a good idea, but Belle did not want her husband to ever fear she would enslave him.  She was touched by the display of trust in letting her have access to the weapon that owned his soul, but she didn’t _ever_ want him to be afraid of trusting her.  She had done enough damage on that front, and she would never put him through that again.

Slowly, Rumplestiltskin bent and put the box back into the hole in the floor.  Once he straightened, he gestured and the floor knitted itself back together, looking perfectly unmarred.  There was a spell there, also, and only Belle knew the right place to touch so that the floor would slide away.  But there were literally dozens of layers of other protections to keep others out, to keep Rumplestiltskin free.  Together, they turned for the stairs again, and Belle could see the tension dissipate slightly once her husband saw daylight once more.  Rumplestiltskin still did his magic in the cellar, mostly out of sheer stubbornness, but she knew that the time he’d spent locked in a cage by Zelena still bothered him.  He’d never told her as much, but then, he didn’t have to.

“You haven’t asked why I pulled up a glamor,” he said softly as they walked back into the house.

“I was hoping you’d tell me yourself,” Belle answered, her voice equally quiet.  She _had_ been wondering, though.  “I don’t really understand it.  Most everyone already saw the worst of it, and none of them are going to think less of you because of it.”

“Aren’t they?” Rumplestiltskin countered as they walked into the kitchen, and Belle stopped to grab his hands in her own. 

“Of course not.”

“There you go, thinking the best of everyone again,” he replied, and if his voice went a little impish and high-pitched, at least his tone was fond.  Still, Belle had to frown a little.

“There _you_ go, thinking the worst of everyone,” she retorted.

“It’s not pessimism when it’s common sense,” Rumplestiltskin answered, and if there hadn’t been such a catch in his voice, Belle would have scoffed.  However, she’d learned quite a lot about her husband’s terrible self-esteem over the last few days (and it was lower than she’d _ever_ imagined, which said quite a bit), so she waited for him to form his thoughts into words, squeezing his hands gently.  Finally, Rumplestiltskin continued: “People prey on weaknesses, Belle.  Even the ‘good’ people take advantage of those they deem weaker than themselves.  You’ve never been truly _weak_.  It’s not something you’d ever have noticed firsthand.”

“I’m not always as strong as you think I am,” Belle reminded him around the lump in her throat, thinking of her own mistakes, her own failures.  _I lost my way,_ she had said, and she’d been right.  But she’d said it for all the wrong reasons, punished herself for loving someone instead of finding a way to make things right.  They’d both been guilty, but Belle hadn’t lived up to her own ideal that day, either, even though she’d been trying so hard to be a hero and had forgotten how to be a wife.

“I’m not talking about momentary weakness, sweetheart.  I’m talking about being someone who _can’t_ fight back, someone who has no options and no choices.  That’s never been you.”  His smile was sad.  “You always find a way to fight back, even when it breaks your heart.”

“You’re speaking from experience,” she realized quietly, watching the centuries of pain welling up in his eyes. 

“Yeah.”  Her husband grimaced, and then nodded down at his right leg.  “This—my old limp—was a weakness, not just a brand of my cowardice.  No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, it meant I would always be _weak._ ”

“Rumple, it wasn’t—”

“Not here, no.  But here I had power,” he cut her off.  “Before?  Back when I was the poor spinner, the town coward?  Then it was an invitation, something for those with power to exploit.  I’m not even talking about the physical disability, or the way thieves knew they could rob me because I couldn’t chase them, or bullies knew they could beat me when I couldn’t fight back.  The invitation came because they _knew_ I would do anything to protect Bae.  They knew that I’d hurt myself to come home to him, and that all they had to do was threaten him, and I would cave.  Because I couldn’t fight them.”

Belle still knew very little about his pre-Dark One days, and when he spoke of them, he never told her of the bleak hopelessness of that time in his life, not the way he was right now.  She could only listen and stare, heartbroken for him and realizing what Rumplestiltskin truly was.  He was the Dark One, yes.  Cursed with a demon inside, doomed to fight a constant and losing battle for control of his own soul.  Belle had always known he was different because Rumplestiltskin was a Dark One who could _love_ , yet his curse was only the outer layer of his problems.  He loved desperately and completely, but always with the belief that he would _never be good enough._   That insecurity had not come from his curse, she finally understood.  That was the poor and frightened spinner shining through.

And she loved him even more for it.

“One of the first things I promised myself when I became the Dark One was that I would never be _weak_ again,” he said quietly, emotion making his voice shake.  “The scars they saw from Zelena—they’re only scars.  A physical reminder of what happened.  But what I don’t want them seeing is the ones that run deeper.  I don’t want them wondering how weak I am inside.”

Hugging him again, Belle said softly: “That was terribly hard for you to say, wasn’t it?”

“You wanted me to be honest,” Rumplestiltskin whispered in the tone of a voice of a man who wondered when she was going to leave.

“I’m grateful for it,” she replied, drawing back a little to look him in the eyes.  “I’m not leaving you, Rumple.  Never again.  I _love_ you.  All of you.  Even the darkest parts—and especially the man you are under the curse, the one who hurts so much and tries so hard to hide it.”

There were tears in her husband’s eyes as he leaned in to rest his forehead against hers.  “I love you, too,” Rumplestiltskin breathed.

“I promised forever, remember?” Belle said as lightly as she could, ignoring the way her own voice threatened to catch. 

_“It’s forever, dearie,”_ he’d warned her, so many years ago.  Neither of them had meant it this way.  Neither had ever so much as _imagined_ the love, the heartbreak, the loss, and the _home_ they would find with one another.  But here they were.  Forever.

“So you did,” her husband replied, and kissed her.

Closing her eyes, Belle leaned into his embrace.  _This_ was home.  This was what she’d fought for, what he’d dreamed of, and this was what they had together.  Their relationship wasn’t perfect, and they would probably always have to fight to stay together.  Beauty was not supposed to love the Beast, and Rumplestiltskin was a difficult man to love.  But their love was worth fighting for, and even in the worst moments to come, she would remember this kiss, would remember his heartbreaking honesty.  She _loved_ Rumplestiltskin.  Belle would never give up on him again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who voted on Hook’s fate! As you can see, he and Emma have ended on a hopeful note, though they still have much work to do. Also, here’s a huge thank you to everyone who has stuck with me through this story, which I’d originally intended to be a three part-er and has obviously ended up much larger than that. It’s been a blast, and I’m glad to have finished before 4B starts.
> 
> Thank you again to all of you lovely readers, and please do drop me a line to let me know what you think!


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